


Tiger, Tiger

by anaïs nielsen (jessicadeva)



Series: Shiny Objects [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, F/M, First Time, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Sexual Violence, Violence, and all-around general mindfuckery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 60,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicadeva/pseuds/ana%C3%AFs%20nielsen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which secrets are revealed and games are played - all by the rules of James Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Walking out of the club, I take a deep breath of the cool night air. It’s euphoric, dancing, and tonight I could even forget about James for a few hours. I shiver, thinking of the sexy redhead I saw watching me all night, his eyes letting me know his appreciation as I let loose and lost myself in the music. It felt good to flirt, it was the perfect distraction, and God knows I needed one. Being apart from James was so painful. But necessary, I remind myself. The man was a straight-up criminal, someone who hurt people without remorse. I just…can’t, I tell myself firmly. _Stop thinking about him, you were having fun._

Sighing, I stride to the corner of the street and raise my arm to hail a cab. As it pulls over, I hasten to get to it before the mass of clubgoers descends. Something catches me from the corner of my eye. I’m nearly to the door when I turn my head and - _holy shit!_ I stumble slightly and catch myself by leaning against the side of the cab. _James._ Goddammit!

James stands on the steps just outside the club, dressed to kill, as always. _Bad pun, Anaïs._ He’s wearing that inscrutable, frankly slightly scary look he gets when he has a fail-proof plan… No, I cannot win a staring match with this man. I have to leave, right now.

I turn to open the door to the cab and find, to my shock, that my sexy Ginger from the club is opening the door across from me. He gives me a 1000-watt smile that doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes, and something seems just slightly off, but I’ve gotta get the fuck out of there, so if he wants to share the cab, whatever. As I slide into the cab I glance out the window to see James watch both Ginger and I get in the cab, and then turn away, but not before I see the slightest hint of a smile. What the fuck?

It hits me like a slap across the face. Ginger is asking if I mind if we share the cab and I cut him off. “St. Francis Hotel,” I tell the cabbie, and turn to Ginger. ”Don’t bother pretending that you want to share a cab or just happen to be going in my direction. Don’t insult my intelligence, and if you can help it, don’t speak to me.”

I see a flash of understanding pass over Ginger’s gorgeous face and he’s mercifully silent on the ride to my hotel. On the other hand he doesn’t apologize for following me through the lobby. I’m getting angrier and angrier as I - we - endure a silent elevator ride.

By the time we walk down the endless hall to my room I’m literally shaking with anger, and like an idiot, I drop my room keycard. I bend to pick it up but Ginger is faster. As he straightens up his gaze goes up my legs and the length of my body. It’s the last straw. As he reaches across me and puts the keycard in the door, I slap him flat-out across the face.

The shock on his face is almost comical, but I don’t care. “How DARE you? How dare you make me think that you were watching me because you wanted me?”

I’m so angry now, at Ginger, at James, and most of all, at myself, that I’m on the edge of hysteria. “How dare you let me dance for you! You could have watched me from a distance! You didn’t have to pretend that you wanted me!”

I slap him again, putting all my weight and anger behind it, and it’s entirely the wrong choice, as several things happen all at once: Ginger grabs my wrists, I step backwards, my weight pops the door open, and we nearly fall into my hotel room. GInger’s grip on my wrists keeps me upright but only enough to push me up against the wall as I stumble and the door swings shut.

****

As the door swings shut, Ginger’s grip on my wrists stops me from falling, but his weight pushes me up against the wall as I stumble. The moment his body crushes mine, something snaps in both of us.

It should have been audible in its intensity, but the only sound is Ginger kissing me so hard I know my lips will be bruised. And when my mouth opens involuntarily, any chance of thinking is lost with the feel of his tongue, and suddenly I’m kissing him back with an equal ferocity, my hands desperately pulling at his shirt, needing to touch skin. He lets go of my wrists to pull up my skirt, and my hands find his hair, his back, and then I’m scrabbling for his belt, suddenly needing this feeling, this possession more than anything in the world.

I hurriedly unzip his fly as he grabs my ass and lifts me against the wall, and then I’m wrapping my legs around him and his fingers are digging into my thighs and I know I’m gonna pay for this tomorrow but I don’t care, not at all. I need this. I need the feeling of being totally filled as he enters me. His thrust is so hard I hit my head against the wall and my fingers grip his back and my nails are probably drawing blood but I don’t care about any of it, just this moment.

His lips find mine and now I know I’m drawing blood because I can taste it. It’s such a turn-on I arch my hips against him and now he’s just as rough with me as he slams into me and we’re fighting each other, but in search of a common goal and just now, my hands grab his ass wanting him deeper and he responds in kind.

I hear him in my ear, sounds he’s making in the back of his throat, and suddenly it’s so intense to hear him I’m moaning myself and our bodies are in sync in this release that grabs us and shakes us and leaves us panting against each other.

As I slide down the wall, unwrapping my legs and pushing my hands against his chest to get him the hell away from me, I’m horrified. And angry, so angry I reach to slap him again. But this time he’s quicker, even with his pants down. He has my wrists in his hands and he’s almost spitting as he says, “You stupid little bitch, don’t you EVER touch me like that again!”

I wrench my hands away and hiss, “Oh, I think I will, whenever I like, because you work for him, don’t you? DON’T YOU! And he would NEVER allow you to touch me! Oh, wait, but you already have…” He’s stumbling backward, hastily pulling up his pants as I stand up to my full height. “Get out, GET OUT!”

To his credit, he looks absolutely shattered, and he bends to grab the keycode off the floor and hands it to me without a word. As I slam the door behind him I am appalled. And now I feel the tears come and I slide down the door to end up on the floor, crying softly: _Goddammit, James, Goddamn you…_

****

Sebastian sinks down on his haunches outside the door, running his hand through his hair, and presses his hands over his eyes. _Jesus, Mary and Joseph, WHAT THE FUCK was THAT, Seb? You are fucking LOSING IT, mate._ Taking a deep breath, he presses his fingers into his temples, willing his carefully controlled self to come back to reality.

"Fuck!" The vibration of Seb’s text notification on his phone startles him, and he reaches for it, cursing. _What’s she doing now?_

Now? That’s an odd choice of words… Sebastian has been in the business too long to let something like that go. He glances around, taking in the hallway and the decor and then he sees it - security camera. Shit! He sighs in resignation as he replies: _Crying._

James replies almost immediately: _I hope you don’t have that effect on all the girls, Tiger. You might want to work on your technique._

There’s really nothing to say to that, Seb decides, so he stares up at the ceiling, listening to her quiet sobs and echoing her curse inside his own head…   _Goddamn you, James…._

The phone vibrates again and Seb wants to throw it but he’s being watched and he’s been enough of an idiot for one night. _Tuck your shirt in, you look a wreck._

Sebastian wants to reach through the phone and strangle his employer, but he’s a soldier first and foremost, so he straightens up and does as he’s told.

 


	2. Chapter 2

At some point I realize there are no more tears. I’m just empty, I’m so fucking crushed that I don’t have James and it’s my fault, IT’S MY FAULT, I can’t believe what I’ve just done and the truth is I liked it - fuck no, I LOVED it, and holy shit, that is not right…. I just have to get up, I’ve been sitting here for who knows how long. I slowly stand and strip right there and walk naked to the bath.

I stand under the shower until my skin is wrinkled - like raisins, we used to say as children. But now I’m a grown-up, right - right? And all I can do is let the water run over me until I’m so exhausted all I can do is crawl into bed naked. I don’t even brush my teeth.

Sleep doesn’t come. I stare out at my $300 view over the city. All those people. All those problems, agendas, hopes, and fears….

The faintest light is coming over the horizon as I grab my phone and send a text before I can regret it: _I miss you._

The reply comes before I actually set the phone down: _I know. Come home._

 

**  
**

Jesus God, I’m tired. I tossed and turned and thought up a hundred replies that of course I didn’t send. _Come home._ Like it was just that simple. I can’t even think about all of the implications, I’m exhausted and I need coffee. Surely James doesn’t think that a four-word, two-sentence text will make everything okay, does he? Except that every part of me apart from my rational mind wants to run down the stairs and grab the nearest cab to his apartment and throw myself at him, asking him to never let me walk away again…

_Snap out of it, Anaïs, you sound like an idiot._

I dress quickly and barely bother with makeup, hoping my sunglasses will hide the worst evidence of last night’s disaster. I grimace at the mirror, and then, feeling like I should at least try to be nice to myself, stick my tongue out. It’s the best I can do. I want to go home, pet my dogs, ride my horse, pretend that none of this happened. Maybe in time I will feel like a real person again. Or I can just fake it. Either way.

In the lobby I spot Ginger, sitting and reading the paper, his auburn hair glowing in the morning sunlight. For fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous. He glances up at me, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses that he somehow rocks instead of looking like a cliche. My mouth tightens and I just stride right by him, pretending I don’t notice when he gets up and follows me out the door. _Fuck you, James. Just because you need to control every fucking single thing in your world does not mean I live in it. I don’t belong to you._

I pause at the top of the steps down to the curb, trying to collect my bearings. I really need coffee. Thank God, there’s a coffee stand on the corner, and the line is reasonable. I head for it, and then stop again. There’s a black town car at the curb, windows up. Are you fucking kidding me? Wait, let’s think about this - could it be someone else? Could it be for someone else? Yeah, sure, except for the tiny fact that the driver, waiting patiently at the door, is staring straight at me. I glance behind me. Well, I guess he could be waiting for Ginger, since he’s standing a few steps up, but since he’s not moving and neither am I, that makes my answer pretty obvious.

No. No. No fucking way. I’m getting coffee, goddammit.

In line, I try to stay still, but I can’t help glancing at the car. I know, I just somehow know that James is actually in the car this time… I can feel him. It’s such a weird connection we have. The woman behind me clears her throat meaningfully and I realize I am holding up the line. I nod and smile at her gratefully, and step forward, just two more orders and I can get some caffeine, thank God. I pull my wallet out and try not to fidget, but I can’t help glancing back again. Ginger is still standing just where I left him, arms folded as he watches me. And the car - the driver has gotten in now; the driver’s window is rolled down and he’s still looking at me, but not for much longer, I sense. James knows I made my decision when I walked to get in line.

There’s just one person ahead of me. I tap my foot impatiently. The car window is rolling up now. That’s that, then. Hopefully I can shake Ginger somewhere and have a normal day at some point. Right? But I feel panicked.

“Miss?” says the barista, “Are you ready to order?” I glance at him, momentarily disoriented, and before my rational mind can even grasp what I’ve doing, I’m pushing down the line, ducking between patrons. “Sorry, “ I say, and again, “Excuse me, so sorry…” I’m terrified I won’t get out of line in time.

As I clear the line, the driver’s door opens and the driver, stepping out, looks at me meaningfully. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. I walk towards him decisively and he opens the back door for me. I glance up to see Ginger turn and walk away as I slide into the backseat.

_James._

Yet another man who can wear aviator sunglasses and still look serious, even scary. He’s giving me a look now that betrays nothing. I just stare back at him behind my own sunglasses, not moving. I can smell him, that distinct masculine smell, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands still in my lap. _James James James_ \- Who will break first? This is us, these are the games we play every single time, as if we have to draw our lines in the sand every moment for fear of being crossed.

James glances out the window as we pull away from the curb. I have no idea where we’re going. When he turns back to me, he slowly takes off his sunglasses. His eyes, dark and fathomless, search my face. I return the favor, knowing my eyes are puffy from crying and lack of sleep. James - he misses nothing and lets nothing go unanswered, that is how he’s made, and I know he will see everything in my face. He always does.

He reaches up a hand to trace my brow, and then my temple. “Oh, Anaïs,” he says softly, “You’re such a fighter.” Tears spring to my eyes, and he wipes one from the corner of my eye with his thumb. His hand follows my jawline, and holding my face, he leans across to kiss me. It’s just the touch of his lips but I melt into to it, into him, I’ve missed him so, so badly. This is what I need, this, just this man, this is home…

And he knows, he knows what I need, what makes me tick, what I respond to, and gives it to me like a supplier gives an addict his heroin. But this works both ways, doesn’t it? James is addicted to me being addicted. Funny… I think, before our kiss deepens and there’s no more room for thought, just this endless circle of desire.

“James,” I whisper when we break apart, “Take me home.”


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the months I’ve had free rein to James’ apartment building, it still feels odd to walk up unannounced. He knows I’m coming - I’ve even texted to let him know when I’m arriving in the city - but to just walk past layers of security without even a word reminds me of what a privileged place I hold in James’ world. I’m lucky, there’s no doubt.

I can’t wait to see him. I’ve been spending nearly all my time at the farm, setting up the non-profit corporation, hiring trainers and barn managers, getting the systems in place, and spreading the word about our racehorse rehabilitation facility. It’s a project very close to my heart - I own racehorses and I’m very well aware of the fallacies and frailties of the industry. And God bless James, the very first thing he did when I came back is set the wheels in motion to make this possible. It’s been keeping me incredibly busy, though, and it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him.

As I walk into the foyer, I shrug off my calf-length cardigan and set down my bag. “James, “ I call, “Hey, love…” I’m surprised when I step out into the hall and practically run into him. My beautiful man is wearing nothing but a dressing gown, and his hair is mussed. He’s ridiculously sexy, as always, but there’s something else…

He smiles at me with what I have come to call his slightly insane smile - the one where he looks like he’s capable of anything. Well, he looks that way because it’s true. Even as he reaches for me, I’m sighing to myself. James in this mood is a handful, a serious motherfucking handful.

“Baby,” he murmurs, and reaches up to kiss me. I’m wearing some serious stacked heels and I’m actually taller than he is, but it doesn’t faze him. Instead he looks me over, and my off-the-shoulder sundress seems to meet his approval because he grabs my hand and begins to walk me down the hall, smiling all the while. “Anaïs, love, I have someone I want you to meet, I’ve been wanting to introduce you for ages…”

James looks inordinately pleased with himself as we walk into the bedroom. And one of those details you can’t quite place out-of-context suddenly comes into focus - he smells like sex. There’s no other way to describe it. Oh, boy, I am in for it today. I can just tell, James has that manic energy and something’s gonna give… I take a deep breath.

The bedroom might as well be the living room, it’s so spacious. It looks out over the Marina District down to the bay, and it’s furnished in a minimalist-cum-Corbusier style that leaves all the attention on the view. The bed, all simple lines and white down-comforters, stands in the middle of the room. At the moment it’s occupied by one very tall, very naked, very sexy Ginger.

 

“Anaïs, love,” James smiles up at me, “meet Sebastian Moran.”

_Of course!_  

“Sebastian,” he nods at the ginger, “Anaïs Nielson.”  

Sebastian manages to give me a look of almost complete contempt whilst simultaneously remaining completely impassive. It’s an impressive accomplishment. I’m suddenly exceedingly thankful I’m wearing heels. It may possibly be my only advantage today, since I am obviously way out of my league. The only thing I can possibly do is meet this head on, so to speak.

“We’ve met, “ I say silkily, “as you well know, James, don’t insult me. You assigned him to me in your...absence.”

James steps up behind me and kisses me at the nape of my neck. “Ah, there’s the smart mouth I’ve missed.”

Sebastian’s face is a carefully constructed blank, giving me no clues how to handle this situation. Okay...so...exhibition? Why not? Maybe it will at least generate a reaction from someone. I’m working in the dark, here.

I turn to kiss James and once again smell sex - on his face? His cheeks? I reach my hand up while we kiss like I’m going to run my hands in his hair but instead I give his cheek a short, sharp slap. He opens his eyes in surprise but not displeasure.

“I just wanted to get your attention, “ I explain in a voice just loud enough to carry. “Is that a new cologne?” James smiles appreciatively at the sarcasm in my voice. I run my hand over his cheekbone. “ I see I’m not the first to use this method.” In the generous light from the floor-to-ceiling windows I can see that someone else has slapped James repeatedly, and hard.

Jim laughs, delighted. “I do adore you, you know.”  

And James is so goddamned persuasive.  And - I would never, never say this aloud - but I genuinely love this man, as stupid as it may be. So I let myself melt into him as he kisses me and I hear his sigh of satisfaction. No matter what else is between us, regardless of whatever stupid game we’re playing, it happens, that connection - I no longer know what to call it, if I ever did. It’s the thing we rely upon in the midst of everything else, not simply physical but some meeting of intention and will and sincerity - the plasmi-physical, the multi-physical. the ultra-physical - whatever it is, it happens now and it’s a moment of mutual reassurance.

Except for Seb, whom I notice looks like he could punch something. _Oh, well…_  - as James would say.

As the moment ends I whisper to James, “I’m restraining myself from beating you right now,” and he actually giggles. It’s so damned annoying and endearing at the same time. So many layers of games upon power plays upon strategies upon games - it’s what his whole world is made of. But I’m just a mortal and all I can think is - what’s the best position for me to take? I’m already so many steps behind in today’s game.

It’s totally obvious to me that he’s just fucked Moran or vice versa and the really annoying thing is that’s a screaming turn-on and James knows me well enough to know it. “ I swear to God, if I’m kissing his cum off your teeth I will leave marks --” I say in a low voice, and when James  gives me his lunatic smile with eyebrows raised, I lose my shit - again - and full-handed smack him across the mouth.

I see his anger surge and although he keeps it under control for me, he whispers like a viper, “Oh, really, Anaïs? REALLY?”

“Yes, really,” I hiss back, “You’ve forgotten YOUR MANNERS.” I stare James down, no easy feat because the motherfucker never blinks in a stare-down contest and it’s totally disconcerting - and suddenly he breaks into a huge smile.

“So right you are.” His hand slips into the top of my dress, pinching my nipple. “I DO apologize.” He’s turned on by my anger, by the situation, but thank god he’s also my man, and he turns to me and looks deeply into my eyes before kissing my forehead. He whispers, “You’re right, you know how how I like my little surprises…” and he blinks his big brown eyes at me.

I realize it’s the lamest apology known to man but I’m distracted from following through by the nagging concern of whether or not James knows just exactly HOW well I know Sebastian. Meanwhile, as this little drama plays out, Sebastian is stuck in bed, watching us with the look of one both experienced and very, very wary.

_Well, too freaking bad. We weren’t together then and the bastard had me FOLLOWED and he had to TAUNT me by showing up at the club in that suit and and and…_ I suddenly realize I am babbling, but worse, it’s entirely silent and inside my head. I swear, James will be the death of me.

Damn it. My next move depends entirely on whether or not Sebastian and I have ever exchanged, ah, pleasantries. Err, words. Bodily fluids. SHIT. I am in so much trouble.

I kiss James’ neck and then take his earlobe between my teeth before whispering, “You are so...naughty. Really. And look, your pet has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing at the moment.” I start to move away, to approach Sebastian, but James catches my arm and swings me around to face him.

“My pet, sweet Anaïs - “ and he gives me a smile that’s more of a smirk and reaches up to kiss the corner of my mouth - “My pet, as you say, just happens to be one of the top three snipers in the western world.” He shrugs. “Of course, I think he’s the best, but I’m biased.”

He’s fucking with me, he knows how I feel about his business, but I pretend I don’t see the connection. “Relevance?” I ease past him once again to approach Sebastian but at the last minute turn briefly to catch James by the wrist.

I lean in, so my words are for him alone. “I hope he held you down. I hope when he slapped you it hurt. I know you like that, and God knows you deserve it.”


	4. Chapter 4

As I approach the bed I think I’ve never seen such a blank face on a human being. It should detract from Sebastian’s absurdly good looks, but somehow it just emphasizes how well he’s made, how perfectly proportioned. I feel an elemental thrill run down my spine to my groin as I remember the sounds he made as he came, and I hope I’m half as good at keeping a straight face.

My God, but he’s gorgeous. He has everything you would want in a pin-up, gay or straight: Icy grey-blue eyes, chiseled jawline, broad shoulders, pecs that beg to be photographed, the abs of a gay model, the gaze of a killer, and, I sense, a fine intelligence. Nobody’s fool, and… _what am I missing?_

  _And…_ I reach out with my senses as I move to sit on the end of the bed and extend my hand - wait - no - that’s completely the wrong approach. Thank God I’ve caught it before I’ve committed myself. If I extend my hand, he’s also committed to the idea that this is the first time we’ve ever touched, and that’s not fair. Also not very smart - I have no idea what James knows. Bad idea.

So instead I look at this man the way James would: I weigh where I could take advantage. I’d feel bad about it except I know that of the three people in the room, I’m the only one with that weakness. So, when in Rome…

Sebastian watches me sort this all out with a supremely flat expression. He’s an ex-military man, I remind myself. Naturally he understands rank and I pause for a moment. Who’s higher? Do either of us know? I want to think that I am, but realistically I serve no purpose at all for James’ business, whereas Sebastian, I know - I’ve done my research, I’m not an idiot - is crucial. So, a stalemate? No, competence should always outweigh charisma, and Seb has both, it’s really me who’s lacking. I have to fake it again, then, because there's no way I’m going to be caught out with a lower hand in this crowd. HELL no.

Well, the only thing to do is approach it as a man would. I stride right up to the sexy ginger who has, I’m fairly certain, recently ejaculated on the lips of the man I adore, and he looks up with a blank stare that almost - almost - holds back his irritation at me. I lounge on the side of the bed and lean forward to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m Anaïs, “ I say, and he responds by kissing my opposite cheek. “Sebastian.”

I take this exchange to the French one-step-further - cheek kisses are infinitely expandable - by reaching to kiss him again, and as I do I whisper, “I don’t know you.” Am I hanging him out to dry or giving him an out?

His eyes are sad, which catches me off-guard. “Are you sure?” he whispers back.

I’m stuck. He’s so beautiful, and I’m not a liar. “No,” I confess.

“I didn’t think so,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t forget you.”

 _SHIT._ I - _dammit, he’s so beautiful._ I do the only sensible thing I can imagine and reach forward to grab Sebastian’s close-cropped auburn hair and kiss him so hard we are both surprised. It’s the only genuine reaction I can conjure up at the moment, and it reaches between us and wraps up in a moment that’s just the two of us, as it was the night at the hotel.

I wonder if, when James was kissing Sebastian a few hours ago, he thought of me at all, and I am almost certain the answer is no. So I let myself reach into the kiss, I let myself influence the outcome, and by God if Sebastian doesn’t respond. _Uh-oh._ The kiss builds and builds, until I’m practically sitting on his lap, fingers wound in his hair, his arms around my back, reaching down to cup my ass.

“I wouldn’t forget you, either,” I whisper as we finally break apart and I stand up.

I turn to James, who looks both amused and aroused. “He doesn’t taste like you,” I say flippantly, “so I guess we all know who the top is in this relationship.”

There’s a half-beat of silence, and then James howls with laughter.

“Very good,” he says, and steps to the dresser, where he picks up a pocketknife from the bowl where he leaves his cuff links and tie pins. He opens it as he walks back to the bed and sits on the edge, facing me.

_He knows._

 

 

 

“Of course I know, Anaïs,” he says, reading my face as he always does. “I saw that you almost lied about it, but for whom? For yourself or for Sebastian?”

He gestures for me to sit beside him. “I rather think it was the latter, which is curious, my dear, because you have surmised - correctly, I’m sad to say - that Sebastian doesn’t like you very much, so why would you lie for him? It is interesting, isn’t it?” He glances at Sebastian, who watches James without speaking. “But in the end you didn’t, you couldn’t, because it isn’t in your nature to lie to those you love, is it?”

Everything he’s said is true, of course, but now I’m the one who doesn’t speak. It’s James’ game, after all. Seb and I are just his favorite pieces.

James glances down at the pocketknife as if he’s just remembered that he’s holding it. “Lay down, love,” he says softly. Soft doesn’t equal gentle with James, I know this well, but I do as he says.

“Sebastian, I think you enjoyed holding her wrists? I need you to do it again. But this time,” he smirks, “try not to let her go, would you?”

Seb moves so he has good leverage on my wrists, holding them above my head so I really can’t move and I’m stuck with my face just inches away from his bare hip. He looks away like he’s not really a part of this, and I realize this is James’ way of throwing his forcefulness with me at the hotel back in Sebastian’s face: James is allowed do this to me; Seb is not.

James smiles at the two of us like we make a delightful tableau. He kneels next to my side and pushes my dress up around my waist. “Always the loveliest knickers,” he murmurs when he sees my lace thong. “Pity.”

With one smooth motion he runs the knife against my hip and under my panties, cutting them off. “Don’t worry,” he says at my expression of dismay, “I’ll send Sebastian out to buy you a dozen pairs later.” Sebastian is watching now, despite his best intentions, and at this small expression of spite, I see his lips tighten. James Moriarty is not a man who lets anything go unanswered, and he isn’t about to let either of us forget it.

 

 

James runs the edge of the pocketknife over my stomach delicately as he reaches for the remnants of lace that were my panties just a few minutes ago. Feeling their wetness, he presses the lace to his nose and sniffs deeply, then tilts his head and glances at Sebastian, narrowing his eyes. “So I suppose you must be a good kisser after all, Tiger,” he says silkily. James looks at me with amusement, and says, “I wouldn’t know, you see.”

I’m confused by this statement but the moment that your lover decides to trace small circles around the inside of your thighs with a sharp knife isn’t the moment to wrestle with a thought, so I set it aside and focus on breathing normally. James leans down and follows the path of the blade with his tongue, and suddenly this game actually becomes real to me: if I jump, or arch against him, or really move at all, I’ll cut myself; stay absolutely still and there won’t be even a nick.

_Okay, okay. I got this, I got it, just breathe…_

James spreads my legs so I have one leg on the floor and the other on the bed against Seb’s leg, then places his hand, with the knife underneath it, on my hip, holding me down or daring me to move. And when he runs his tongue over my labia I bite down - hard - on my lower lip, but I manage to stay still. I glance up at Seb and find him staring not at James but at my face, at my lips. When I catch his eye I see a look of longing pass over his face, but it’s gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.

And then James takes my clit in his mouth and I cry out from the shock of his touch and the simultaneous feel of the blade cutting into my skin when I involuntarily press against his mouth. James raises his head lazily to look at me. “Come now, my dear, that will never do. I don’t want to scar your beautiful skin. Stay still, angel.”

And I try, God knows I try, but _I can’t._ James has been able to do this to me from the very first time he ever went down on me - he knows exactly how much pressure to use and when, he knows when to bite and when to just tease my clit with the tip of his tongue, he knows when I want to feel his tongue deep in my pussy and when to torture me by taking his tongue away altogether. And that’s what he does now, now that I’m straining against Sebastian’s grip, flushed with desire and adrenaline.

James leans against my thigh and moves his hand off my hip to reveal a thin trickle of blood running down. His hand is sticky with it. He smiles and traces it with a finger before leaning over and licking my hip with his tongue. It’s terrifying and insanely erotic at once, and I recoil away from it at the same time that I feel a thrill run down my spine and recognize my gut-level desire to do the same to James. Could there be an act more intimate?

James looks at me with lust-drunk eyes and kisses my stomach before rocking back on to his knees. He carefully wipes the blade on the comforter before closing the blade, and then with total indifference, tosses the knife on the floor and stands up, looking at both Seb and I carefully. Then he gives us both the I-can-do-anything smile and paces while he speaks as if we were at a business meeting.

"I read an article recently that hypothesized that men like to watch other men fuck their partners because it triggers the innate instinct to compete and win out. It suggested that by fucking her after another man, his testosterone level is raised and he experiences more lust and a bigger load of sperm." He turns to me with a look of mock confusion. "What do you think, my dear, does that sound plausible?"

_Oh, the games aren’t over. Of course not. Games are what makes James’ world go round. And the next move is mine._


	5. Chapter 5

“Plausible?” I stretch out the pause as I try to get my whirling thoughts together. Sebastian’s hands on my wrists seemed to tighten when James outlined his little science theory, and I’m extremely conscious of my face being only inches away from his groin. James watches us with flat amusement, gauging our reactions.

It’s not easy to keep your dignity when you’re being held down and your lover has just cut you, licked the blood off your leg, and then kept you from orgasm, but I do my best, arching an eyebrow and giving James a half-smile.

“Anything is plausible. The question is, do you need that to feel like the winner?” My voice is deliberately teasing, but I’m also taking a bit of a risk given that James is in a megalomanic mood, with no signs of it dissipating anytime soon.

James shakes his head at me. “Always the insolent one, aren’t you?” He glances up at Sebastian. “Can you even imagining saying such a thing, Tiger? I think not.”

He kneels next to me and runs his thumb over my lower lip. “Such a smart mouth.” Then, to my surprise, he leans in and kisses me, so tenderly I feel myself give in and open my mouth to his. He ends it with my lower lip between his teeth, but he’s very gentle. “Ah, it’s one of your best qualities, my dear.”

He straightens and tilts his head, considering. “Hmm…. Well, as you so correctly ascertained, I haven’t yet had my...pleasure, so I certainly don’t NEED it. But it does sound like an entertaining experiment.” He gives me a sly smile. “But maybe it would be best if I left this in your hands, Anaïs. You get to choose. Do you want to fuck Sebastian, or do you want to fuck me?”

I feel, rather than hear, Sebastian catch his breath and I guess that he’s wondering, like I am, what the right answer will be.

_Think, Anaïs. This is another game, think it through. Okay, let’s start with a premise: James would never set me up to fail, because that, in turn, would mean that he made a mistake in choosing me, so therefore this must be a win/win situation, with either answer being correct. But why? I can see that if I choose James it strokes his ego and proves that he’s the alpha here - but what could possibly be the benefit to James if I pick Sebastian?_

James is watching me; James, the master of observing human nature, the one who knows everyone’s pressure points, who knows what makes everyone tick. “Take your time,” he says, “No rush.”

I glance up at Sebastian and there’s something, something there behind his eyes, something niggling at me: How sad he looked for a moment when he thought I wouldn’t acknowledge him. His irritation as James and I kissed. The look of longing I thought I had imagined.

And then it pops into my head, full-blown: _Sebastian prefers women. Oh, he loves James, and I'm sure he likes fucking him -but his loyalty to James, to his job, means he never gets to have anything lasting, nothing of his own. His dislike of me isn’t ME, it’s that James always gets to have what he, Seb, wants - and so James is offering me to him as a kind of gift of their bond._

Sebastian has my wrists so tight now, my hands are falling asleep. I grimace at him and whisper, “Jesus, ease up, will you?” He doesn’t meet my eyes but marginally releases them, so blood flow is restored. His face is flushed and I know there’s much more than meets the eye behind that pretty face.

_But James has put this all in my hands and why does he think I’ll make the correct choice - that is, the choice he want me to make - ? Of course - because I almost lied for Seb. And that means I must have had some subconscious empathy for him, some sense of the sadness behind the expressionless facade._

_My God, it’s exhausting thinking the way James thinks._

“I do love watching you think, Anaïs, “ he says, smiling. “One can practically hear the gears turning.”

I can’t help but smile back at him, the insufferable bastard. But we do suffer him, don’t we - Seb and I, I mean. And maybe that’s the other thing that James is counting on - that perhaps we are the only two people in all the world who can understand what it’s like to love a man like James Moriarty.

“So,” James says, moving closer, “what do you think, my dear? I’m ever so interested to see the results of my little experiment.”

 

“I think,” I say slowly, thinking of the anger in Sebastian’s eyes when James and I kissed, “that maybe we should ask Sebastian if he’s actually interested before we go making decisions for him.”

James stares at me for one long moment before breaking into howls of laughter. “Ask him! Ask him? Ha!”

I wonder what idiotic thing I’ve said now, and glance at Sebastian, but he’s staring at James and his face reveals nothing. When James gets ahold of himself he’s answering me, but staring right back at Seb.

“Anaïs, Sebastian is a man. I think we can all surmise, given his past behavior, that he is attracted to you. You have kissed him rather passionately tonight by way of introduction, and I’m guessing that, being as you were sitting on his lap by the end, you were aware of his response? And now he’s laying less than a foot away from you in my bed as you writhe and moan under the touch of my mouth, and you think we should ASK him if he wants to fuck you right now?”

James is laughing again, he can hardly contain it. “My dear girl, even if he hated you he would still want to fuck you right now. That’s the difference between men and women, you see,” he says as an aside, and glances at me affectionately before returning his gaze to Sebastian. “But I don’t think he does hate you, not really…”

And then James gets that look, the one that says he’s got something to prove, the one that I find ever-so-slightly unnerving. I know James is capable of anything and so very unpredictable.

But it’s not directed at me at all. In one swift motion, James runs his fingers through the wetness of my pussy and reaches up to trace Sebastian’s lips. I see Sebastian’s eyes widen, and this small break into emotion, even for a moment, re-enforces my own shock.

“You don’t, do you Tiger? You don’t hate her at all.” James shakes his head and once more rubs my wetness across Sebastian’s lips, and smiles. “She tastes delicious, don’t you think?”

I see Sebastian, despite his best intentions, bite his lower lip, and then I notice one small tic at the edge of his eye.

James turns to me. “And so, my dear, on top of all the other sexual cues to which Sebastian has been exposed, we now have the work of the wee pheromones on our side, the smell and taste of your arousal and I would say…,” he glances back to Sebastian again, “...that it’s damn near killing him not to move right now and take you by force. But again...” and now James raises his eyebrows and smiles sunnily at me, “it’s all up to you, Anaïs.”

 

 

 

I look up at Sebastian for a cue, a glimpse, anything - but he’s opted out by looking away. I let my eyes take in his high cheekbones, strong jaw, his broad shoulders, and I find myself imagining running my tongue along his collarbone. I glance back to James, who is still smiling as he’s watching me, and he nods, almost imperceptibly.

Once again I’m struck by the fact that James wants me to want Sebastian. There’s something there that I just can’t put my finger on, something I’ve missed, a dynamic that I don’t yet understand. I’ll have to wait to unravel it, though, because it isn’t wise to keep James Moriarty waiting too long. He gets cranky.

“Well,” I say rather loudly and to no one in particular, "do you suppose I could have my hands back? I have things I could be doing with them..” I’ve succeeded in dragging Sebastian back into the present moment by virtue of his needing to look to James for confirmation.

“Of course,” says James simply.

As Seb releases my wrists, I grab his hand with my own and bring it to my lips, kissing his palm. I see his eyes narrow, trying to discern my motivations, and then half-close as I trace my lips with his thumb, biting the pad and then drawing it into my mouth. I kiss the palm of his hand again and then release it, and as he opens his eyes I say softly, “Come here.”

Sebastian slides down until his face is just inches from mine. I take his face in both hands and look at him directly, telling him with my eyes and then with my mouth that I’m doing this, first and foremost, because I want him, not just for this little game we’re all playing. And as he feels this, as he feels my sincere desire and acknowledgement, it’s like something breaks open inside him. Suddenly his hands are in my hair and he’s kissing me passionately, deeply, but with none of the anger I expect.

When we separate, blinking, I feel James run his hand across my shoulder, and then he echoes the gesture, almost tenderly, with Sebastian before rising. “I would like to say it gets dull being right all the time,” he says, “but you know, it really doesn’t.”

Humming to himself, he retreats to a chair with an excellent view of the bed. I’m surprised - I thought for certain James would want to stay with us, share the energy of it. Again I realize there’s something else at play that I don’t understand. Sebastian just looks thoughtful. Whatever gesture has just been made, it’s in Seb’s language. He gets it.

All of that plays across Sebastian’s face in moments, and then he looks at me and for the first time since he watched me dance at the nightclub, I see a faint smile.

“Take off your dress…,” he says, and I realize it’s also the first time I’ve heard him speak without anger - “...but leave on your shoes.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Sebastian._

Where to start? Is it the way he can literally pick me up, the broad masculine strength of his body, the way he makes me feel incredibly feminine? Is it the way he gives himself over completely in a kiss, the way he runs his hands over my body, both hungry and appreciative? Is it the sheer delight we find in each other, grinning like two horny teenagers when we discover how well we fit together?

With Seb, it’s the simple genius of the male/female dynamic, no head games, no ambiguity. Just the incredible perfection of his cock sliding into me, and my absolute bliss at being receptive to him. Our hands, our bodies say we were made for this, this exactly, this delightful dance between spirit and matter, and our mouths say - who are we to deny it?

We’re both so turned on that we switch gears rather quickly - one minute my hands are running over his back as he sucks on my nipples, as we learn each other’s feel and scent - and just a few minutes later he picks me up, his large hands and long fingers cradling my ass as he holds me tightly against him, thrusting deeply inside like he would break me in two. I hear myself saying, “Oh, God, Seb, oh, God -” but I can’t stop, and when I hear his sounds - oh oh OH - I am over the edge and crying out, both of us slippery with sweat as he spurts into me, over and over again.

Before we’ve even caught our breath, he whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry, that was much too short.” His arms tighten around me when I whisper back, “Then we’ll just have to do it again.”

I draw back to look into his eyes, a deep sea blue now and sleepy with satisfaction. Some kind of understanding passes between us, both more and less than our physical exchange - for in delighting in each other we’ve both gained a glimpse of why James delights in us, and neither of us is so modest as to ignore such a gem of information.

I kiss him, sweetly, and I sense there’s been some parlay of mutual respect as well as enjoyment, and I’m grateful. Because I know James well enough to know this isn’t the end of the game at all. No, it’s just the beginning, I’m certain of it.

As we move apart, I’ve no more leaned back against the pillows when James speaks. “You can’t imagine how fetching you look in those shoes, love. Be an angel and spread your legs for me so I can see.”

In my drowsy, just-fucked state, I am happy to comply. Even Seb has a lazy half-smile as he leans back to watch us. I sit up and lean back against the headboard with one leg drawn up so my cunt is fully exposed to James’ gaze.

“Ah,” he says as he approaches the bed, “very nice. Do y’know, I think this experiment might have some merit to it.” He narrows his eyes and runs his tongue along his teeth, pursing his deliciously full lips.

An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. I love watching him when he’s like this, he’s so disturbingly predatory and I can’t help but feel enthralled. He moves slowly and deliberately as he watches me.

“Put your other leg down on the floor, love, there’s a good girl.”

James drops to his knees in front of me, his eyes flitting from mine to my cunt. “Is that..? Oh, my Sebastian, I am impressed. I didn’t know you had it in you - after earlier, I mean.” He raises an eyebrow as he glances at Seb. “Hmm. She must have really had quite an effect on you, Tiger.”

He fingers my pussy, slippery with Sebastian’s cum. “Oh yes, that’s very nice, very nice indeed. Are you ready for a bit more, my love?” His dark eyes are brilliant with anticipation as he watches me draw a quick breath. I see his lust in the clench of his jaw and the color along his cheeks and I know my possession is the only thing on his mind in this moment. It’s incredibly erotic the way he looks at me, lips parted, eyes dark and intense. He makes me fucking breathless, this one, and as we lock gazes I realize this was a dangerous game after all.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” I whisper.

James drops his robe by the side of the bed.

“Oh, yes, my dear, you very much are,” he agrees, smiling wickedly.

And with that, my lovely predatory James sets upon me with a ferocity that’s at the very essence of our interactions. Even knowing what’s coming, it takes me by surprise. For a moment I’m at the mercy of his teeth, the grasp of his hands, his thick cock as he slams into me, but almost just as quickly something snaps inside me and the game is on, the mighty game of possession.

And as always, everything else fades away - it’s just the two of us and our frightening, snarling, biting, animal passion for one another. Who will have the upper hand, who possesses whom?

It changes from moment to moment, each of us fueled by our determination and lust. When we roll off the bed we roll over and over until I grab the bed frame so he can thrust more deeply. “Take me,” I gasp, “I surrender. I am all yours, always yours.” I brace myself as I feel us come together, so entwined, his teeth on my neck and my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

My god, he’s a thrill, every single time. As we slowly come back to reality, James takes my lower lip between his teeth and sucks on it, biting softly. “I like watching you come back to earth,” he murmurs against my lips, “I like how dark green your eyes turn. I like watching you fight and then give in, Anaïs.”

I could actually start purring with satisfaction. But then James moves off of me and as I sit up I remember our compatriot, who watches us with a look of wry amusement. James, too, seems to shake off the intense intimacy as he sprawls on the bed next to Seb.

“Well, Tiger, what do you think? Was it a worthy experiment?” He smiles broadly and to my great surprise, Sebastian smiles back fondly.

“Bit loud, you two.”

With a snort of laughter, James says, “She’s a slashing tart, don’t you think?” But his voice is admiring and I take no offense, not even when I stand up and see them both watching me, conspiratorially, like teenage boys. Because men will always be more comfortable with other men, I reflect, and woman will always be The Other.

I realize I am still wearing the heels. It’s an advantage not to be wasted.

“Can either of you exceedingly manly men get in touch with your feminine side long enough to order Chinese?” I ask sweetly. “All this...virility...it’s exhausting, you know, I’m simply famished.” Hands on hips, I sigh and turn to sashay down the hall to the shower. Fiddle-dee-dee!

****  
  


Once in the shower, though, I soberly ponder the odd dynamics between James and Seb. Why, for instance, did James move off the bed when Seb and I connected in that kiss? It could have been a threesome but it really wasn’t - why? Oh! Of course, because James was showing Seb he wasn’t sharing me for his own vicarious pleasure (that was just a bonus) but for Seb’s pleasure. All the talk of the experiment was just an excuse, set-dressing, as it were.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that the entire afternoon - the whole drama with me meeting Seb, the whole subtle convention of smelling him on James - it was all just one of James’ elaborate set-ups with one goal and one goal only - to get me to sympathetically and with real enjoyment, have sex with Sebastian, without either of us feeling that we were being manipulated to do just that. God!

I’m almost sputtering in the shower as I go over the afternoon in my mind from James’ point of view. What an absolute master he is! It would be unbelievable, really, except that’s what he actually does for a living - set up situations based on a lifetime of studying human nature. And sexuality is such a simple trigger, isn’t it?

But still, the question remains: why?

And, it logically follows - what next?

 


	7. Chapter 7

I’m drying off when James comes in, smiling at me. “Need a hand with the lotion, then?”

“You want to rub the lotion on the skin?” I joke, but it’s such a terrible pun we both cringe.

James frowns. “Ugh, that was not worthy of you.”

I wrinkle my nose, and nod. “I know. But irresistible.”

James snorts, and takes the towel out of my hand, drying my backside. “You did very well, Anaïs. I’m quite chuffed.”

I turn to face him. “What’s going on, James? Why the elaborate ruse? You could have just asked. It’s hardly a taxing request, to sleep with Seb.”

James smiles, pleased with my deductions, and puts a finger to my lips. “Perhaps not, but considering the rather disastrous outcome the last time you two met, I couldn’t chance it. I can’t answer all your questions right now, it would take too long and the game is far from won.” Picking up the lotion off the counter, he gestures for me to turn around. I face the mirror and watch him standing behind me as he begins to spread lotion between my shoulder blades. “Tell me this,” he says easily, “in your admittedly brief, but _thorough_ interactions with Sebastian, what is the one quality he responds to?”

He watches me as I think it through. It comes to me as I tie my robe shut. I look at James in the mirror, James the observer, always watching, always taking stock of everyone’s emotions so he can file them away to use later.

“Sincerity.” Sebastian opening up to me in that kiss, meeting me more than halfway when he sensed that I genuinely desired him, smiling at me with no artifice - yes, that was all because of sincerity.

James nods. “Exactly, my dear. So you can see why I can’t provide you with any more information at the moment. We all know you’re a terrible liar. I don’t know how I’ll ever take you to Vegas…” he looks far away for a moment. “...and God knows I can’t take Sebastian. He always cheats.” He shakes his head, rueful, before coming back to the present and meeting my eyes in the mirror. “I will say this - I would like Sebastian to stay tonight. See if you can make that happen.” I raise an eyebrow and he winces. “Please.”

“You know,” I say sweetly, “your use of that word is really coming along nicely. By ‘stay’ I assume you mean -”

“Obviously.” His face is impassive, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

I pause, considering. “I’m going to the club tonight, did you forget?”

“Yes, sorry.”

I frown at him. “That IS why I came to the city today, not just to play games with you, you know .”

He moves to press his body against my back, and lifts my hair to kiss the nape of my neck. It’s meant to be distracting, and it works.

James smiles in the mirror. “I’ll send Seb, then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“I just - just to be clear, do you mean you want me to -”

“Angel -” James cuts me off with a glance, “ - at some point in your life you’re going to have to stop asking for permission and start doing what you think is best.”

I raise my eyebrows. “And I gather that would be now?”

James turns me to face him, and although he’s smiling, I see the calculations in those dark, fathomless eyes. “Yes, my dear. It’s time.”

****  


I find Seb in the kitchen, sorting out the take-away. He has the short, economic gestures of a man used to both competence and doing without if need be. He glances up at me as I walk in, but says nothing. There’s no wasted movements, no energy wasted on displays of emotion, either.

Wound tightly, this one.

“I like mu-shu pork,” I say, lightly.

“I know,” Sebastian grunts in reply, “James told me.”

I let out a sigh of exasperation. “It’s infuriating. What that man doesn’t know would barely fill a thimble.” At this I see a faint amusement in Seb’s eyes. “It’s true,” I go on, “it drives me mad.”

Seb pauses for one moment as he looks at me, then returns to the task at hand. I’m surprised when he speaks.

“But you like it, too. It’s flattering.”

“Yes,” I admit, rueful. It’s like a weakness, James.

As if he’s read my mind, Seb speaks as he hands me a plate. “He’s a vice.” Seb’s gaze is unflinching. “You’ll never find a substance more addictive than James Moriarty.”

He turns away, and I know I’ve been dismissed.

****  


“Tiger,” says James as we sit down to a late lunch, “I took the liberty of bringing out your easel. I hope you don’t mind. I thought Anaïs would make a good model for you.”

It’s a total disadvantage in the company I’m keeping to have any emotion show on my face, but I’m me and my disbelief must be obvious, because while Sebastian thoughtfully assesses me, James bursts out laughing. “Oh, sorry, you thought he was only a killer? He’s really quite good at a number of things, but he’s a dab hand at painting. That’s his work, there.” He points to a portrait of himself I’ve admired many times - all strokes in motion, it captures the force of will and physicality of James without being at all precious or sentimental.

“It’s very good,” I say to Sebastian, “Did you study somewhere?”

“Self-taught,” Seb replies shortly, never looking up from his plate.

“Don’t let Seb fool you,” James smiles indulgently, “He studied at Oxford, actually - just not art.”

I glance at Seb. “Oh?”

Sebastian glances up at me for just a tick, then at James, wary. “Economics.”

I nod. So he’s a man of many layers, Sebastian is. Interesting. I glance at James. “And you?”

James grins. “Trinity College.”

“What degree?”

“Drama.”

I laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“Surely not. I do a fabulous Richard III. Can you not see that?”

At this, Seb shakes his head. “Och, but you do tell a tale, Jaime.” He glances at me. “Mathematics. He’s a bloody effing genius. The stage was just a bit of fun.”

James smiles at Sebastian fondly. “Really, how am I to impress a girl, Tiger?” At Seb’s grimace, James turns to me, “And what about you, my dear?”

“Of course not, that’s why I’m a writer. But you already know that.”

James shrugs. “Seb’s benefit.”

“Seb doesn’t care,” I say in disbelief.

“Doesn’t he?”

“You know what’s fun? Talking about Sebastian like he’s not sitting right here.” I’m rewarded with a quick laugh from Seb. It’s a start.

“Well,” says James, standing, “It’s settled, then. What do you think, Tiger? The white suede chaise lounge? Or the Corbusier chair?”

I cut in. “I’m happy to pose for you, but you’ll have to tell me what you want. I have no idea.”

Sebastian looks at me, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Stand up.”

Surprised, I do.

“Turn around.”

I have no idea what he’s looking for, or at, but I do as I’m told.

Seb tilts his head, considering. “What are you wearing?”

At the moment, I’m wearing a robe. “Pardon?”

“To the club tonight,” Sebastian says with a hint of impatience.

“Oh, I -”

“Go get it,” he interrupts me, “and the shoes.”

“Bit bossy,” I say, mocking James’ accent, as I walk off.

And that is how I come to spend the afternoon lounging across the couch in nothing more than a sweater wrap tied between my breasts, and a pair of peep-show heels. Apparently the dress is superfluous. It’s sexy for about ten minutes, especially as Seb poses me, and it’s interesting to watch him paint for about another ten minutes after that. But soon I find myself drifting off, and apparently I fall fast asleep, because when I wake up it’s dark, and someone has covered me, thoughtfully, with an Afghan, and removed my shoes, for which I’m deeply grateful.

There’s some low lights on, but I’m alone. No - scratch that. Stretching, I suddenly realize Sebastian is sitting in the near-darkness, very still, a finger steepled against his lips as he watches me.

“Jesus! Have you - you’ve been watching me sleep?”

He takes a breath, and moves his fingers to his chin. “I’m painting.”

“Without paints.”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” I nod. “Well, that’s not creepy at all.”

Seb looks faintly amused, which, I realize, has become my goal - getting a reaction from this aloof, guarded, inaccessible man. Me and my stupid campaigns. I stare at him for a moment.

“It’s hunting, isn’t it?” This time I’ve actually caught Seb by surprise.

“Sorry?”

“Painting. It’s all a matter of capturing something, pinning it down. You’re a hunter. It’s your drawing-room hunt.”

His eyes narrow, but his face remains expressionless. “Perceptive.”

“I try.” I make a move to get up, but Sebastian stops me with a hand.

“No - wait,” he says, and I sink back down onto the chaise. “When I - the last time - I -”

This is obviously not his forté. He takes a breath, but when he speaks again, his voice is carefully controlled. “I owe you an apology.”

_Oh. That._

I quickly break in - “No, it was -”

“Stop.” Seb holds up his hand. “I took something, something I wasn’t invited to take. And - I’m sorry.”

I’m speechless.

Seb looks across at me now, considering. “I did want you to dance for me. It wasn’t an act. But I had no right. None at all.”

And with that, he stands, all long legs and slim hips, and he’s left the room before I can compose any reply.

When I’ve finished getting ready for the club, there’s still no sign of James; he’s either gone out or he’s locked in his office and either way he won’t be pleased to be disturbed. I pick my sweater wrap up off the couch and find Seb sitting in the foyer, devastatingly handsome in a linen jacket, cream shirt, and jeans. “Ready?” I ask, and get the predictable nod in return. “Well, this should be a fabulous date,” I say, setting off down the hall, “all the scintillating conversation, you know?”

In the backseat we don’t touch, or speak, both of us looking out the window. It reminds me of train trips through Europe, the anonymity, how I loved being solo, alone, free. “It’s my freedom,” I say, glancing at Seb. “Dancing. Being at a club, completely alone, beholden to no one. No feelings to offend, no responsibilities. Just me and the music.”

I’m surprised to find Seb watching me as I continue, “I love being anonymous. You know, like how sometimes the sex is better when you know nothing about the person?” The words are no more out of my mouth than I realize what I’ve just said and I’m instantly appalled. I’m actually blushing. “That - I didn’t mean- really bad choice of words there,” I finish lamely, looking down at my lap.

“Don’t apologize,” Sebastian says, looking out the window, “I don’t shame easily.”

At the club, Seb disappears into the crowd and I’m grateful to lose myself in the music without any need to be self-conscious. I run into friends - club friends, really - which isn’t unusual in our small world, and I happily join them for a round of shots, and then another. I need this, letting off steam after all that’s gone on recently. We dance loosely in a group, but I stay on the periphery. I don’t need more interactions, I’m still trying to sort out the ones I’ve just had.

A man I don’t know, a friend of a friend, moves out of the circle and next to me. I never know what to do in this situation - I want to be polite, but I want to be left alone. I can’t seem to get the idea across - as the music builds he moves closer and closer, and the crowd is so tight I have nowhere to retreat. I try to turn my back but out of aggression or obliviousness, I don’t know which, he follows. I’m annoyed, I’ll have to just walk off the dancefloor and I love this track. As I’m mulling over which side has less people to push through, the guy makes the very unwise decision to grind up against me. I’ve no more decided to turn and confront him when I hear a strangled yell and turn to see Sebastian literally dragging this jerk off the dancefloor by his collar.

To call Sebastian in action intimidating is an understatement - the ferocity under his controlled gestures takes my breath away. I glance around and see that anyone who has noticed the disturbance is watching with mouth agape. Well, me too.

I shut it firmly and turn my back. I have no desire to know what happens next, although I very much doubt that man will ever be so rude again. If he ever goes to a club again. _Oh, well..._ as James would say.

I push past the crowd on the fringe, making my way determinedly to the bar. “A shot of Patron and a bottle of water,” I request. I down the shot and take the water out to the patio. The cool air feels delicious on my skin, and I take a deep breath.

“That’s the second time I’ve had to stop someone from accosting you, you know.”

“Jesus!” I almost drop my water. “Could you say ‘Hello’, Seb, or is that not in your vocabulary?” He’s standing just behind my left shoulder, the silent bastard. Wait - _second_ time? What the hell is he talking about? I look up at him, peering closely. He has on his blank face again.

All of a sudden, I understand. “You were there. In Sacramento.” It’s a statement, not a question. It’s all a blur, but yes - if I run through all the frames of my memory, I see him now, out of the corner of my eye, that unmistakable ginger hair and the efficiently ferocious movements, ripping one of my assailants off of me. I nod. “You were there,” I say again.

“Mmm,” he agrees, “I was. I was late.”

“Late?”

He nods, grimly. “Yes. Late. It’s my fault you were injured.”

“Your fault…? No.” I shake my head. “If it weren’t for you, I might be dead. How can you say that?”

He looks away. “No one - no one should have so much as touched you. A mistake. My mistake.” His voice is flat. “It’s not up for discussion. You don’t understand. I wouldn’t expect you to.”

It’s another dismissal, but I tend not to back down gracefully after three shots of tequila.

I tilt my head and look up at him. “You’re right. It is you. I’ve been coming to clubs by myself for ten years and never had so much trouble as I have since you’ve been here. Obviously, you’re the issue.” I manage a straight face and give Seb my best narrow-eyed stare of doom.

We have a six-second staredown before he starts laughing. Really laughing. The kind where you have to join in because you feel like an idiot for not laughing. When we stop, I have to dry the tears of laughter from my face, and Sebastian, of course, hands me a handkerchief. “What kind of man in this day and age offers a lady a monogrammed handkerchief,” I demand, thinking of James and our afternoon in the backseat of his car.

“I’m a stranger here myself, miss,” Seb answers in a Texas twang with a straight face, and we both crack up again.

“Goddammit, Seb, knock it off. I’d like to leave some mascara on, if you don’t mind.” I dab at my eyes as I turn to him, and when I pull the handkerchief away, we’re staring at each other. His icy grey-blue eyes are, for just this once, vulnerable. I want to say his name, reach out to him, do _something_ , but I’m too enthralled. Or too weak. The moment passes. He turns away.

“Sebastian!” I call, and he stops. I hand him back his hanky, and then, stepping forward, reach up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for saving me again,” I whisper. He smells of musk and faint cologne, and the stubble on his cheek grates against my skin. It’s all I can do not to press myself up against him and beg him to take me, like a schoolgirl crush.

But I’m not that girl, and I step back.

He’s still looking at me.

I clear my throat.

“Do you like tequila?”


	8. Chapter 8

Sebastian shakes his head. “I can’t, I’m working.”

“Oh, please. You weigh at least 235 pounds, I’m quite sure one shot of Patrón won’t keep you from safeguarding my maidenhood - or whatever it is that you’re supposed to be doing here.”

Sebastian’s thick eyebrows raise as he looks at me. “Are you drunk?”

“No, and one more shot won’t make me, either. But it will make me happy. You know, the whole ‘free-white-and-twenty-one’ thing?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “No.”

“Hmm…too bad.” I stroll to the patio bar and order two shots. Sebastian comes to stand beside me and I hand him one. “Saluté.” He hesitates for a moment and I smile at him. “Cheers,” I say and down mine, and Sebastian follows suit. We slam our glasses on the bar.

“I’m going to dance,” I say, and Seb puts back on his blank face. “Do you want to watch?” I don’t wait for his answer but as I head for the dance floor I know he’s following.

As we walk inside, the music is too loud for conversation, and already I can feel it pulling me in. There it is, The Golden Moment, the moment when everything is connected and makes sense and holds me up and I let myself go, go with the feeling as it rises with the music, up and up until I can hardly take it and I open my eyes to see Sebastian watching me with envy, that I feel so free. I make my way to him, making room one person at a time until I’m standing in front of him, and I pull him to me, to dance with me.

Can Seb dance? Well - no, not really. But he can follow me, and I dance to him, with him, against him - asking him, telling him to come with me in this experience. And he does. He does! Finally we are on the same plane, the same page. It’s brief, as The Golden Moment always is, but when it ends I feel like I could climb walls and leap tall buildings, and be heroes - and weirdly, right as I am thinking that, the DJ picks that exact song, Bowie’s Heroes, to put in the mix.

I am dumbstruck. This is one of those songs that always, without fail, strikes me down and makes me cry, because who, who could possibly say no to being heroes together, even if it is just for one day?

I look up at Seb and I can tell he sees it all, sees the whole gamut of feelings across my face, and he pulls me to him. _Sebastian._ It’s just like the first time I felt him - such a relief. He’s strong, and broad - broad enough to rest upon - and completely present. And he gets this song, he really does, I can feel it in his muscles, in the way he reacts. I put my head on his chest and my arms around his neck, and he picks me up, like some ridiculous scene from a movie, and carries me outside. In the car, he holds me on his lap while I inexplicably start to sob against his chest, his large hand cradling my head, and we stay that way all the ride home.

I remember walking down the hallway saying, “Stay, Sebastian, please stay tonight.” Because James has asked me to, yes - but I want him to stay, his presence is so incredibly reassuring, and I need that in my precarious emotional state.

The second time I turn and throw my arms around his neck and plead. And he gives in. When I brush and wash and crawl in bed, James moves over in a half-sleep and just after, Sebastian crawls in behind me. As I tuck into his chest, I feel the safest I’ve ever felt.

And he sighs.

Morning comes too early. James brings me coffee and I wonder how he can look so perfect, so well-groomed, all the time and at all hours.

“Good morning, my dear.”

I blink, rapidly. “Morning.” I’m sure my curls are sticking up in all directions.

“Your hair is such a good reflection of your state of mind,” he grins, and I wonder if James really has perfected the art of reading minds. It wouldn’t surprise me.

I take a tentative sip, and then another. “Mmm...what?”

“Well, Anaïs, I suppose you did as I asked, and Sebastian did stay over, but…”

Ugh, so complicated so early. I frown. “But what?”

“But that’s hardly what I had in mind! Staying over to comfort you?” James looks pained.

_Jesus._ I drink down half of the coffee in one gulp. “I couldn’t help it. He’s stubborn as hell, you know this!” I take another long sip. And then - “Could you bring me a warm-up?”

James looks at me for a long, scowling moment, then with a deep and heartfelt sigh takes my cup and leaves the room. When he comes back he wears a smirk. “You’re lucky I’m Irish, my dear. I know a hangover when I see one.”

“It’s not a hangover!” I protest. “Well,” I say as I sit up further, “maybe just a little one. I don’t know what came over me.”

James tilts his head. “Interesting,” he murmurs to himself. “Very interesting.”

“What is?” I ask, faintly irritated to be his ongoing science experiment.

Reading my expression, James snorts. “I’ll have a carafe sent in, so take your time, darling, but DO try to find a sweeter countenance, would you?”

“I’ll see what I can manage,” I mutter.

James turns to leave, but I call after him. “James -”

He pauses in the doorway.

“Did you not say that I’m to do what I think is best?”

He turns, his perfectly arched brows raised. “So I did, love.”

“Perhaps you ought to consider that in your equations when it comes to Sebastian and myself.” I echo his look by raising my eyebrows as well. I won’t be called out when I’ve done well. It’s unacceptable. ”Comfort, responsibility, guilt - these are all motivations that lie buried as deeply as sexual attraction in some psyches,” I say quietly.

James nods, a smile spreading across his face but never reaching his eyes. “Thank you for the reminder, my dear. I will certainly take that under advisement.”

 

I’ve had two cups and a shower when James comes back later in the morning, and I’m feeling much more human. “Hey…” I smile, and move to kiss him.

“Ah,” he nods, taking me in his arms, “I see you’ve found your sweet side again.”

“Perhaps. Just for now.” I agree, my lips moving over his neck.

“Hmm, well, I’d better take advantage of it,” he says, untying my robe and stepping out of his silk pajamas.

I giggle.

“What?”

“You are ridiculous, James Moriarty - ridiculously sexy. Jaysus,” I say, mocking his accent.

And laughing, we sink under the covers and come together.

James, my one true passion. My lover. My life.

Even now, I wish I’d known how long it would be before I’d see him again, and what a very different person I’d become when I did.

But how could I know? It was never me, never me pulling the strings, shaping the outcome. It was always James.

And so I took him for granted, the shape of his jaw, the taste of his hipbones, the texture of his cheek against my thigh...all of the things that would keep me up late at night just a few weeks later.

But I didn’t know.

“I loved watching you with Sebastian,” he says when we’re laying side by side, the sunlight in the late morning creating bars of light across the rug. “It would please me to see you fuck him again.”

Disconcerted, I turn to look at him, but I see no sarcasm. “For your experiment, do you mean?”

He waves his hands as if the idea was simply the dust motes playing in the sunbeams. “Oh, no - no, that has no importance at all.” He pauses and a faint smile flickers over his features. “It was amusing though, I will say that. No, my dear, beyond the lovely aesthetics of seeing you surrender to my Tiger, I learn a great deal from him.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiles at me now, affectionate, tilting his head to look into my eyes. His are dark and glittering - there’s something just ever-so-slightly off about his demeanor, but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not bad, as much as it is… thick. There’s too many layers in his thoughts today for me to get my bearings.

“He knows something I don’t know, it’s his great advantage. He knows how to feel, how to really feel. He has to damp it down all the time to stay sane, but - don’t you see? I have to invent my feelings by imitation. He has too much, and I have too little.”

_Ah._ I draw in a breath. So the manic feel of the weekend wasn’t an illusion. There’s more. _There’s always more._

James runs his thumb over my lips, his eyes caressing me. “You smile at him. You smiled at him when he was fucking you like you never smile at me. Oh, you don’t need to feel defensive,” he adds, as I shift on to my side to face him, “I don’t blame you at all. I never give you a reason to smile like that, that simple joy. I would like to, you know, I would like to understand what he feels that engenders that reaction from you.” He tilts his head now, studying me. “I’ve learned all my emotions by imitation, Anaïs. It’s how I learn.”

It’s so raw, so honest, I don’t know how to respond. “James, I -”

“Don’t.” He cuts me off before I can even form a sentence. “Remember what I said? I don’t need reassurance. I know who I am. I only bother to learn things that give me an advantage, you know that. I only like to win.”

In the long silence, I roll his words around like marbles.

Finally, he turns to me. “What is love, Anaïs? I care about you, I want you to have everything you need, everything you desire. I would never let anyone hurt you, not without total and immediate retribution. I would kill for you.” He shrugs, and I think of the night he did, but I know that’s not his thought, and I feel sad. “I’m not sure that means anything coming from a man like myself. So I ask you - is that love? Is that what everyone means when they talk about it? Because all my life - you know, I’m just - I’m an outsider, looking in. All these - feelings that other people have, I can only guess what they mean. And keep watching. Observe. And imitate.”

Stricken, I reach my hand out to his arm, and he places his hand over mine.

“You see? You made that gesture involuntarily, even though I told you that I didn’t need reassurance, because you can’t stand to have someone you love feel alone.” He smiles at me faintly, fondly. “And I know you do love me, please don’t bother to argue it.”

But I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to, it’s taking all my effort to keep a quiet, calm face, and not start bawling. _Jesus. This man, this man will be the death of me._

He picks up my hand now, and kisses it lightly, sweetly. “But try to understand - I would never, never make that gesture involuntarily, because it would simply not occur to me. I can only do these things with a thought process - How should I be responding? What should I be doing? - that always leaves me one step removed. Do you understand?” he asks now, almost kindly.

I look at him, and swallow. Understand? Yes, I understand. But it isn’t a surprise, not really. James simply isn’t like other men.

He’s a supernova.


	9. Chapter 9

Finally, I nod. “I understand, I do. Not emotionally. Intellectually. But, yes.”

James brings my hand to his face and kisses my palm. “You’re probably wondering why I’m saying this. Understand -” and now his voice takes on his particularly Irish passion, emphatic and yet melodic, “what I feel for you, or about you, is as close to love as a man like myself is ever likely to get. I could say the words but I doubt they would have any real meaning. And you must know this - I feel exactly the same way about Sebastian.”

My eyes must show how stunningly overwhelmed I am by this conversation, because he moves closer to me, placing my hand in his hair, and pitches his voice lower.

“I saved his life once, and he has saved mine many times over. I trust him as much as I could trust any man - and he is my lover as well as my friend. Can you accept that?”

Can I? I have no idea. But I do know it’s preferable to not having James at all. What did Seb say? _“He’s a vice.”_

Ironic, isn't it, that it’s Seb who drove me back to James?

I look up at him, still trusting, even now. “I think so. I can’t say really say,” I frown, unsure. “I mean - I don’t really know what it entails.”

James speaks as if I haven’t. “I hope you wouldn’t be jealous, Anaïs. Really, I’m the one who has cause to be jealous.”

I pull away, confused. “Why do you say that?”

Restless, James pushes the duvet aside and gets up, walking to the window. Pulling on my robe, I join him, but I make no move to touch him. I let him pace, his naked body all angles and lines as he weaves in and out of the beams of light from the late morning sun.

He pauses, suddenly, and turns to me. His voice is perhaps louder than he intends. “Tell me, can you accept Sebastian? Can you accept our history, how I care for him?”

Now it’s my turn to stare out the window, the mesmerizing view - all those buildings, all those little lives, all those agendas - down to the bay and even, on a good day like today, a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge. I see a yacht tacking across the bay and follow its progress as it glides towards the bridge, unconcerned at the larger waters just ahead.

I will not lie to James - not even to make this easier. “I don’t know, James, I can’t know how I will feel. You just told me you’re not a man who needs reassurance, so why are you asking for it now?” I cross my arms across myself, involuntarily, but James sees it, of course, and sighs.

“I apologize,” he says softly, turning to take in the view with me, “I’m asking you to make a determination with too little data.”

There’s a soft lull between us, and I find myself wishing this to be over, whatever this is, but I know better.

James finally turns away from the window and faces me, supremely unconcerned in his nakedness, his gaze challenging even as his voice is measured, reasonable.

“Do you know what trust is to me, to a man like myself? Managed risk, that’s all. That’s it, that’s all there is - something that could be expressed in a percentage. And do you know what it is to you? To you, my dear, trust is giving in to a belief, the belief that I hold your best interests at heart.” He steps towards me, his voice soft now, like velvet. “I would like to ask for your trust in this, but -” he shakes his head just a millimeter, “instead I’m going to have to trust you.”

I’m lost now, and I step back. “What do you mean? Explain to me why you have cause to be jealous, I don’t understand.”

James leans back against the glass. He’s very still, and I can feel him weighing his words carefully. When he speaks, he looks at me gravely, his voice measured. “Sebastian is slipping, Anaïs. He’s slipping, there’s something not - “ he shakes his head now, and looks away, “I can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve known him a very long time, and something is very wrong. That night, when he came out of your hotel room, you should have seen his face - he was shattered, absolutely shattered -”

“What? How did you -”

“Security cameras, but that doesn’t matter,” James waves his hands in dismissal, frustrated at the interruption. “The point is, that was so beyond - that was so very out of character. He just crumpled outside the door, I could see him trying to keep himself together, trying to pick up the pieces of himself…”

I look out to the bay, I hate seeing James so upset, it isn't like him and there’s nothing I can do. The yacht has passed under the bridge, just a rapidly shrinking dot on the horizon now. _Godspeed, friends. Wherever you’re going, I hope you find what you’re looking for…_

James takes an audible breath and continues, his voice pitched low. “And there have been other things. Jobs just barely completed. He’s almost gotten caught.”

I’m suddenly horrified. “This isn't about his work, is it? Tell me this isn't just about his job performance, for god’s sake!”

James whirls around, genuinely upset now. “Jesus, I might be the most unfeeling bastard you've ever met, but for the love of Christ, give me a little credit, Anaïs!”

I take a breath, willing myself not to take on the anger and fear I can feel tumbling inside of James. “I’m sorry, that was insulting. Forgive me.”

And just that quickly, my mercurial man crosses to me and takes me in his arms. “It’s overwhelming, isn't it? All of it,” he murmurs into my hair.

I take a deep breath and when I smell him, I find my bearings again and I nod. “Yes, but keep going.”

James lets me go, but softly. “The problem isn't that he’s almost been caught - although obviously that’s not ideal, but I can make contingency plans, I can fix it. The problem is that I’m not entirely certain he doesn't _want_ to be caught. Somewhere. I’m not jesting when I say that he’s slipping. And by slipping I mean, slipping gears -” he taps at his temple, and looks at me intently. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

I nod, slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

His voice is urgent now, and I see him resist the urge to grab my wrist. “Listen to me - there’s going to come a day very soon when he’s going to need you.” He ignores my look of disbelief impatiently. “Do you know why? THINK. What do you have that I could never provide?”

I close my eyes, blocking out distractions. _Think, Anaïs. What is really going on here? James is - afraid. Just for the moment, ignore how very strange that is, just note it. He’s afraid that he can’t actually solve this problem. But he thinks you can...why?_ Unconsciously, I bring a fist to my mouth and bite down, willing myself to see the connection. But the pain wakes me right up and just like that, I understand. After all, he’s told me more than once. _“Raphael. You’re Raphael.”_  I shake my head in ironic appreciation. _Oh, James._

I open my eyes. James is watching me with that strangely still face he gets when he’s evaluating something. I answer quietly. “You told me just yesterday. Sincerity.”

It’s the right answer, because James breaks from stillness into a wistful smile, and stepping close to me, brushes a curl out of my face. “Yes, my love. Sincerity. The hand reaching out, as you did for me a few minutes ago. I can’t do that for him. And the smile I can’t create for you. Do you see now why I have cause to be jealous?”

James may not need my empathy, but I have enough for both of us. He sees it, sees me hurting for him, I’m only human, after all.

“Don’t worry, my dear, I’m not prone to fits of emotion that have no use.” I watch, fascinated, as, even naked, he switches personas, putting on his business self, as if he were wearing one of his bespoke suits. “I’m sorry to have to press you on this, but I must ask you again, can you accept Sebastian’s role in my life?” He looks at me. “In our life?”

For the very first time, I wonder if he is not just choosing his words carefully, but flat-out manipulating me. _Our life._ What does that even mean? I live in James’ world, not vice versa. Is this even really a choice? What if I say no? But James knows me better than that, he knows I wouldn’t say no, he would never ask me a question to which he didn’t already know the answer. “Did you, by any chance, ever go to law school?” I ask, abruptly. It’s the first rule of litigation.

My question amuses him. “No.”

Pacing now, I fiddle with the belt of my robe. “Tell me why you call Sebastian ‘Tiger’.”

James assesses me, my two questions, and nods appreciatively. “You have such a good mind. Perhaps we ought to think about sending you to school. Shame to waste it.”

He smiles now, once again master of his emotions, and gestures to me to join him as he settles back on the bed, leaning against the pillows. I find myself moving to him without even thinking, so relieved am I that he’s back to himself that I simply sink down next to him, my head on his shoulder as he gathers me against him.

“I call Sebastian ‘Tiger’, my dear, because he once tracked down a man-eating tiger that was stalking me and killed him single-handedly. Have you not noticed the scars on his shoulder? Well, perhaps not,” he smirks, “You haven’t yet seen his, ah, stamina, so you may not have had time.”

And he laughs to himself while I look on in disbelief. “Seriously? Are you actually serious?”

“Oh, yes, he’s perfectly capable of lasting much longer than that.” His face actually twitches with the effort of not laughing.

“Jesus Christ, James, you know that’s not what I mean!”

Now he laughs aloud, letting the humor relieve some of the tension between us. “Oh? I do apologize, love.”

Serious now, he waves away my disbelief. “There was a time, when we were both young, that we pursued every risk. We were a perfect partnership in our love of danger. I could tell you a hundred stories. But nothing comes anywhere near the night he killed the tiger.” James’ eyes are far away. “It was the apex, that night, the end of an era. We never discussed it, but from then on, all the risks we took were for business, not sport. The time had come to leave childish things behind, as it’s said. But to me, Sebastian will always be the man he was that night, my Tiger.” His voice is reverent, velvet-soft.

I look at James, my beautiful, calculating, predatory James. Finally I say, “If that’s an approximation of love, James, that’s as close as anyone gets.”

He glances at me, eyebrows raised.

I meet his eyes, and once again, throw in my fate with his. “My answer is yes.”


	10. Chapter 10

James pulls me to him, kissing my hair, my cheeks, my neck. Is it because he wants me or because I've given him the answer he desired, the answer he needed? Does it even matter? My hand cups his head as he places delicate kisses, kisses on wings, across my jaw, and then my cheek.

Something inside me is still on guard though, because in the distance, alarm bells sound. I frown, even as I let James pull me down into our realm of the senses. Something's changing, isn't it? _This, too is the end of an era._ Why does this phrase run across the inside of my eyelids?

I start and sit up suddenly, surprising both of us.

“James?”

His eyes track across my face, searching. “What is it, love?” he asks, quietly.

“I miss you,” I hear myself say. _What does that even mean?_

James blinks. “I’m right here,” he says.

I shake my head. “I wish you could be at the farm,” I say, quietly, “I need to go back. And I miss you when I’m there.”

“You know I’m obligated, how can you - “

“Stop it, stop,” I cut in, raising my hand in protest. “I know you have obligations, I’m not angry or disappointed, love. I just miss you.” I cup his chin with my hand. “Something tells me it will be longer than -”

James grabs my wrists in his hands and kisses me, hard. “What would you have me do? Tell me, Anaïs.”

I look at him, sad without knowing exactly why. I swallow my tears, and find a half-smile. “Send Seb...if you can't come, send Sebastian. It’s what you want, anyway. But please just know - I miss you.”

James looks at me without blinking. Finally he nods. And when we kiss, I taste ashes.

****  
  


“WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING MAD NO I'M NOT FUCKING GOING JAMES YOU BASTARD I'M NOT - ”

“She’s Raphael, Sebastian, you need that.” James doesn’t bother to look up from the drafting table where he stands making notes. It would only upset Sebastian to have an actual confrontation; much easier for both of them for him to just shrug and look away.

“You don’t know what I need!” Seb is practically yelling now as he paces.

James winces at the noise. “Don’t be stupid, of course I do. I always have and I always will. And what you need is - a holiday,” he says, his voice final.

Sebastian whirls, fists clenched. “I don’t. I need a job.”

“I gave you a job, Sebastian, remember? And you - YOU - had to be replaced with someone capable of completing it. Surely you haven’t forgotten. It was just a few weeks ago?”

James can’t help reveling in his meanness, can’t help rubbing it in. It angers him at a cellular level that Sebastian isn’t able to keep his temper at his own failings - no, that isn’t quite right. It angers him that Sebastian HAS failings, that he’s failed at all. It reflects badly on James, that he can’t keep even his best and brightest together.

No, that isn't right, either. It infuriates him that his Tiger is no longer the man he once knew, that the one thing in all the chaos in all the world that he held in faith - _my Tiger will always be by my side_ \- has unraveled like a heretic’s burial shroud. And in truth, the spectre at the feast is fear, not anger, but James could never admit that even to himself, so his voice is filled, instead, with spite. “You earned the job you had next, and until you prove me otherwise, your current job remains.”

Sebastian’s ruddy skin is flushed nearly red with frustration. “Are ye not listening Jaime, are ye going deaf in your age, then, I NEED A FUCKING JOB!”

“Consider it a job, then. It’s very simple. Keep track of her, don’t let anyone hurt her, and keep her happy.” James’ voice is harsh. “Boom.” He raises his hands in irritation. “ A job.”

Sebastian steps back as if James has slapped him, but the dark-haired man still looks over his notes without straightening.

“That’s hardly a proper job,” Sebastian spits, but he knows he’s beaten.

James looks up, finally, but his gaze is as flat as his voice. “You don’t get to tell me what is and isn’t proper, Sebastian. It isn’t up for discussion.” He turns away from the hurt in Sebastian’s eyes. “Now go away.”

So Sebastian does, swallowing the words in his throat that threaten to choke him.

He’s a soldier, after all.

He does what he’s told.

****  
  


The trip by car from San Francisco to Napa isn’t long, in my opinion. But apparently, if you’re Sebastian Moran, it’s pretty much intolerable. He literally hasn’t said two words to me since we’ve left the City, just staring out the window with a blank face, his lips drawn into a thin line.

After a good hour, I sigh. “For the love of God, Sebastian, stop pouting. We’ve both been sent off to the farm.”

He doesn’t bother to turn. “Yes, but you like the farm. That’s the difference.”

“How can you know you don’t like it if you’ve never been there?” I ask in a reasonable tone.

Sebastian looks at me with barely suppressed anger, his movements much like a caged animal in his effort not to strike out, to keep himself together.

‘Tiger’ suits him, I realize, it suits him far too well.

“I’m only here because you requested me, and James said it shall be so. Do you understand?” he growls. “I’m not here for you, I’m here for James.”

I lower my eyes and nod. We’re both here for James, but I don’t have the heart to correct him.  How helpful would it be for him to know that James is worried about him? Men and their pride… I sigh as Sebastian turns away from me, fists clenched.

_Tiger, beloved of my beloved._ It hurts to have him angry at me, but anger feels better than regret, at least in this moment. I’ll just have to endure the cold shoulder.

I can feel a tumultuous ball of emotions in Seb, and my impulse is to try to unpack it and analyze it, as I normally would, but I’m suddenly tired of trying to understand how everyone feels, or if they have feelings at all. I need something fun.

Pulling out my phone I glance at the time and place a quick call. “Do you have anything around 3:30? Oh, perfect. Yes, for one. Perfect, thanks.” I can feel Seb watching me and I have to make an effort not to laugh. I lean forward and hand the driver a card from my wallet, the address of our next stop before home.

“What’s this?” Seb says with annoyance.

I keep a carefully blank face. “I’m getting a pedicure.” I look at Seb, all clenched jaw and lined brow, and raise my eyebrows. “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. Do you want me to see if they have a spot for you as well?”

Seb sets his lips in a thin line and turns back to the window.

I do the same, but only to swallow my laughter. Because my dear Sebastian, I am quite certain, has a foot fetish.

_Oh, James,_ I think fondly, _you ARE rubbing off on me_.

At the salon - which specializes in pedicures and is even now, on a Sunday late afternoon, mostly full of women of all ages getting their feet soaked, rubbed, and polished - Seb sits across from me, eyes on his tablet, the picture of boredom. But I’m not buying it. My footwear for the day is unspectacular - simple sandals - but I see Sebastian's eyes flick to them involuntarily as I carefully remove them and slip my feet into the bath.

And so it goes, back and forth, until I give an audible gasp during the massage. It’s not on purpose - it’s a genuine sore spot, probably from those damn heels I wore last night - but nevertheless has the intended effect as I look up at Seb. His eyes are transfixed by the image of the woman kneeling at my feet, my foot sliding in the lotion between her hands.

As if he can sense me watching him, he suddenly glances up and our eyes meet. I smile at him; he’s caught out and he knows it. I raise my eyebrows and before he can decide which way to play this, I say, “Oh, Seb! I’ve forgotten to pick out a polish. Would you do me a favor and pick a color for me?”

Now I have a genuine smile from him - a genuine fuck-you-smile, but still - it’s a start. He takes a deep breath and stands up, a lanky six-foot four length of repressed redheaded emotion. I can hardly keep my laughter under wraps as I watch him look thoughtfully over the rows of bottles along the wall. Even here, in this feminine environment, where he should be absurdly out of place, he’s remarkably graceful, like an athlete. He knows where his body is at every juncture, a self-awareness never muddied by being self-conscious.

It’s remarkable, remarkably sexy, and as I look around I realize nearly every female on the room has their eyes on him as he ponders color choices. Well, it would be hard not to; his fiery hair and absurdly broad shoulders are just the beginning, even as he stands in casual jeans and an olive t-shirt with a hole in the shoulder. He’s as male as it gets, and it’s captivating.

“I always like dark red, myself, don’t you? But I’m open-minded, maybe you can show me something I haven’t seen before,” I tease, pushing just a little more. I see his nose twitch in appreciation as he struggles to keep a straight face, and I smile with the secret pleasure of having seen him naked. The memories of his sounds, the sounds he made in my ear as he came, come flooding back and it must be written all over my face, because when I look up to see the bottle Seb is handing me, his eyes say he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking. And even better, he can’t resist thinking about it as well, what with the foot rub and the polish and the promise I make with my eyes that when we get back to the car I’d be happy to put my feet in his lap.

I raise my eyebrows again and he shakes his head with a rueful smile. “I can see why he likes you,” he says as he hands me the bottle. It’s a deep, dark purple, and will set off my toe-ring nicely.

“You, too,” I say, sweetly, “good choice.”

In the car, I make good on my promise and carefully place my feet across his lap. Seb’s features show no emotion, but I notice he’s not looking me in the eyes, either. He frowns. “You really shouldn’t - I can’t -”

“Be careful with the polish. It might still be wet,” I interrupt.

Seb looks positively flummoxed.

I stretch, smiling. “Do you know what I like best about getting my toes done?  How soft my feet feel afterwards. It’s like when you’ve just shaved, so smooth.” I raise my eyes to his. “Do you want to feel? I’m not ticklish, just sensitive.” I run one foot up his thigh, and to stop it going any further, he grabs it - but then, of course, he has my foot in his hand.

Dilemma.

He looks down at my foot, then up at me, and swallows. His grey-blue eyes are ever-so-slightly glazed, and his expression is so conflicted I almost feel bad. But not quite, since I’m pretty sure my distracting dilemma is actually in his best interest. And I have one last pressure point.

“Have you ever had someone suck on your toes?” I ask, sweetly. “It’s like an electric shock, a jolt right through you.” I curl my toes into his thigh and wait, a silent count in my head. If he makes it to ten I’ll be shocked.

Seb is still Seb and actually makes it to twelve before I feel his hand rubbing my heel, then the arch of my foot, and then his fingers explore between my toes and I gasp.

I stretch out my leg and suddenly we’re no longer playing a game. Sebastian lifts my foot and kisses my arch before he slowly, tantalizingly, bares his teeth to bite me, and a thrill runs down my spine. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he runs his tongue down the length of my foot, his teeth trailing along the outside. I wonder, given the angle of my leg, if he can see how wet my panties are, and carefully, I run my other foot up his thigh and over his impressive erection, straining through the denim.

Sliding my foot under his t-shirt, I run my toes along the waistband of his jeans, and then softly against his hard stomach and up his well-muscled chest, where I run my toes over his nipples and then back down. I love the feel of his skin and the hard flat plains of his stomach and hips. I want to straddle him right then and there.

As if he can read my mind - or my face, again - he pulls me up until I’m sitting in his lap  Carefully, he makes sure my toes are on the seat, unsmudged. “Mind the polish,” he says, and kisses me.


	11. Chapter 11

_Sebastian._

Right here, right beneath my hands, my lips, this beautiful man kisses me not with passion but with questions, not dictating but asking where this will lead, probing this connection that’s been foisted upon us, and gently exploring the connection that’s ours alone. It’s like we’ve both realized that we need to start back from the beginning, to make introductions of touch and taste and smell all over again.

We let the urgency slip away, replaced by curiosity and the realization that we have time, time to let this desire unfold and reveal itself - and us.

“Sebastian,” I murmur, while his head is buried in my neck, “Listen for a sec -”

“Mmm?”

I gently tilt his head so we can look at one another. “ I know - I know you’re conflicted about this - well, not this, exactly - but we, we haven’t ever -” I take a breath and try again. “Listen, this might be the only chance we ever have to explore this - just you and me.”

Seb nods thoughtfully, his thick, straight brows drawn together as he watches me.

“I don’t think there needs to be a conflict between what James wants and what we want,” I continue, quickly. “You’ve guessed it?”

Sebastian’s lips set in a firm line, and he nods, but doesn’t interrupt.

“Even if there’s more to it than that, let’s just let this be for a few days and see where it goes.” I look into his beautiful grey eyes and see, again, his fine intelligence as he weighs my words. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll prove to be completely incompatible.” I smile as I see Seb relax ever-so-slightly, amused.

I know it’s not the end of the discussion or the dilemma, just a reprieve, but I’ll take it and apparently Seb will, too, because he brings my head down to kiss me again. My arms slide around his neck and I feel his hand at the small of my back as our kiss gently, steadily expands until I feel laid open, bared to his touch. Exposed.

He pulls away and I open my eyes to find him looking at me with longing - not just desire, or lust. but something altogether deeper, more complex. I don’t have the capacity to figure out what it means in my current state, so I store it away to think about later.

“We should stop,” he says quietly.

I’m momentarily confused, but as the car turns down the long driveway, I understand. Seb gently moves me off his lap and rearranges with a grimace. “Long day,” he mutters in response to my grin.

I touch his thick brow with my fingertips, lightly, and look over his beautiful bones, his strong jaw, the wrinkles edged into the corners of his eyes. “Sebastian, I think I need a nickname for you. You’re just not the ‘honey’ or ‘darling’ or ‘dear’ type.”

He grins up at me, amused. “Nah, most likely not.”

“You have any suggestions?”

He thinks for a moment, and I see an inward smile. “Er, well -” he laughs self-consciously, “I’ve a bit of an Irish temper, aye? I had a name - at school I might have had a few, well, I was known for breaking a few faces, you see, so the other lads - they called me... Basher.”

I can’t help but giggle. “It suits you, I have to admit. Basher it is, then.”

At the end of the drive at the main house, I’m so excited to be home - it’s just been two days, but my god, it feels like I’ve aged five years - I practically jump out of the car. Lupita, the housekeeper, lets the dogs out, and it’s a wiggly, wagging reunion that ends with me on my ass on the lawn as they crawl over me, getting in licks and kisses wherever they can. Moffat notices Sebastian first, and they move to him as to kin, and he lets his guard down as he kneels to pat them with equal enthusiasm.

“Ah - let me guess, you’re Irish, of course you like dogs,” I say, shaking my head.

Seb stands. “Quite right.” He grins at me and then slips into the real Seb, the intelligent one who sees everything as he turns, taking in everything about the farm in his initial view, turning a full 360 as he assesses the scene. “Very nice,” he says to me, but his calculating gaze at the place I call home is off-putting, and I turn my back to pet the dogs again.

“Well, c’mon then,” I call, and step into the mud room just long enough to change my sandals for clogs. “Let’s go see what’s to be seen,” I say to my enthusiastic companions.

“I’ll just unpack the car,” Sebastian says sarcastically, and I throw him a look over my shoulder. “Leave it. We’re not in a rush. Why don’t you come with, stretch those long legs?”  I start down the drive, not waiting, but with his long legs he’s soon caught up. I glance at him. “I’m not doing the whole grounds right now, I’ll change first. But I do like to see my darlings.”

As we walk the fence line, the horses notice us and a few begin to amble our way, but I have no treats and don't’ stop until we’re at my favorite pasture, lined with big shady trees and blackberry thickets.

I whistle and call, “Where’s my horse?” and a chestnut turns out of the herd, looks at me - and then nickers. I call again and he begins to walk, then trot, and picks up speed until he canters up to us, showing off by sliding to a stop at the fence. “Hello, Gladstone, my darling,” I enthuse, as I crawl through the fence boards, much to the dogs’ annoyance. Gladstone nickers to me again and I reach to scratch his forehead, his ears, and all his favorite spots. He tolerates this good-naturedly, then asks for a treat and upon realizing I have none, shakes himself all over and slowly walks back to the herd.

Seb stands on the other side of the fence as I ponder, then choose to hop over rather than crawl through the fence boards. But he’s fucking fast, and he surprises me by catching me in both arms, and I’m momentarily nonplussed. “Christ, Basher,” I say as he slides me down his chest and sets me on my feet. He pushes me away before I have a chance to think, and I look at him, curious. “Hey, so - let me guess, you’re Irish, so you know how to ride?”

Seb grimaces, to my great amusement. “Yeah, well I was taught, of course. But I don’t, generally. James does, every now and again.”

“He’s actually not half-bad,” I agree.

“Well, that’s James for you, isn’t it?” Sebastian laughs.

“Is there anything he’s bad at?”

Sebastian smirks. “If there was he’d be paying someone else to do it, wouldn’t he?”

I laugh in appreciation. Too right.

 **  
**“Like shooting,” Seb continues, “He’s fine close up, but from a distance…” Seb shrugs, his eyes far away for a moment, and then comes back to me and smiles. **  
**

We’re lounging in the grass on a blanket in the drowsy late afternoon sun after walking the grounds. Everything, to my relief, has been running just fine in my absence. Lupita, bless her, packed us a hamper and I’ve grabbed a cooler of beer. This is bliss, here, to me - the sunlight through the leaves, the hum of bees, the dogs flopped down in the grass. I lean back, sipping my beer, and close my eyes for a moment.

“You love it here.”

I open my eyes to find Seb watching me. “Yes.” He looks remarkably relaxed for a man who’s gone from anger to unsatisfied erection to country gentleman in the course of a few hours. But this place suits him, it’s palpable. “You love it, too.”

“Let’s say I like it very much.”

“Right, let’s keep a damper on it, it might be dangerous.”

Seb says nothing. In an absentminded fashion, he starts peeling the label off of his beer bottle. “You know what the problem is with all this love?”

“What?”

“It can be used against you.”

I consider it for a moment. “Yes,” I finally say. I want to add that it doesn’t matter, or shouldn’t matter, that I can’t keep myself closed off to stay safe - but who am I to lecture Sebastian? “You’re a man with an entirely different set of reference points from mine.”

“And I only have one pressure point but you -” he gestures broadly, taking in the horses, the dogs, the land, “ - you have so many.”

I look around, seeing it from his perspective. “Yes,” I say quietly, “that’s why I don’t live in your world.”

Sebastian lays down beside me, his head resting on his arm. Randomly, I notice his eyelashes are extraordinarily long and there’s a fine, fiery stubble caught by the late-afternoon sun across his strong jaw. “Anaïs, how long are you going to keep telling yourself that? What world do you think you’re living in now?” He laughs, but it’s affectionate, not mean. He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes.

It’s the first time he’s ever called me by name.

We sit quietly, companionably. When I finish my beer I see that Sebastian has fallen asleep, which I take as a good sign. I get up as silently as possible, and the dogs follow. I walk down the lane to one of the smaller paddocks with an older, retired gelding my trainer has been working with regularly, Francis Hanover, called ‘Frank.’

Leaving the dogs outside, I hop over the fence and greet him. He’s one of my favorites, so sweet, the kind of horse hungry for any and all interactions. He nuzzles me and I find the stub of a carrot in one of my pockets.

As we mutually groom one another, my mind returns to what Seb has said. He’s right, of course. This whole life is funded by James’ business, some of which is legal, much of which is not. But even that doesn't actually bother me - it’s the axiom, which says some of which is moral, much of which is not. But that of course, is a grey area of thought. Perhaps it’s best picked apart by attorneys, philosophers, and psychologists...certainly when I think about it I never end up anywhere solid.

And although we’re doing something good here, something moral, our ability to do so comes from just the opposite.  It’s a dilemma I can’t seem to resolve.

I have my face buried in Frank’s mane, which he seems to love, not just endure as Gladstone would. With a language of simple gestures, I ask him if he would mind a short ride; I need a change of perspective. He seems agreeable, so I hop until I can lay across his back, then swing a leg across. It’s not graceful, but it’s the best I can do without stirrups or mounting block. Of course this is foolish - I have no tools, no saddle, bridle, or reins - and no helmet, but I think about the life this old warhorse has led and where he is today, and I feel certain he will take care of me.

We walk off to the fence-line, me cueing him with my weight and legs and touches to his neck as well as pointing. Horses are pretty smart, they can figure things out. They've had to, as prey animals, or else they end up as someone’s lunch.

And much like humans, they tend to rise to the level of expectation. Frank is no exception; he’s good to me and tries to understand what I am asking and for a few, blessed moments, I am lost in this simple world. Yes, I love him, I love them, I love all of them. I wouldn't be me if I didn’t.

I can’t change that, mainly because I won’t. And James won’t cease to be a man in love with the game, and Sebastian won’t cease to be a man willing to kill. Because in some way, we like who we are, we rely on it.

People never change unless the consequences of staying the same outweighs the pain of change; and in each of our cases we are talking about basic character - learned, chosen or DNA, it doesn't matter. It’s who we are.

Suddenly I feel tears running down my face as I realize how futile it all is - I don’t belong in their world and it doesn't matter how enchanted or enchanting we each can be - it’s not a fit, not one that can stand the test of time. And yet here I am now, with Sebastian, as if falling in love with James Moriarty - a man incapable of experiencing the same - wasn't enough, now I have Sebastian Moran to contend with and worse - James is relying on me.

On me - the weak link in this chain, the ordinary one.

_Ordinary._


	12. Chapter 12

 Tears are streaming down my cheeks now, and I’m just letting Frank walk wherever he wants, I can’t see to guide him anyway. His ears are swiveled back towards me, asking what it is that I want. I almost laugh, as I wipe my eyes with the back of my arm. “If only I knew, Frank,” I say, patting the back of his neck, “that’s the question of the hour.”

Blinking, I dry my eyes on my sleeve and glance up, wondering where the dogs have gone. And of course - because what could be more mortifying than the thoughts I’ve just had, right? - Seb is standing on the other side of the fence, watching me. I have no idea how long he’s been there, but his expression is a strange mix of concern, anger, and something else - strategy? I don’t know him well enough to decipher it, but it’s interesting that he’s letting it be seen at all.

I ask Frank to stop and slide off, praising him and explaining that he’s not to blame for the sudden shift in my emotions. Maybe he can’t understand me, but what if he can? I believe animals can read feelings, just as I believe humans can if we ever shut up long enough to listen. We’re animals, too, after all.

Giving one last pat, I walk to the gate and greet the dogs, who have run to me from Sebastian’s side. I reassure them, and retrace their steps. For some reason, I suppose because I’m not wearing heels, he seems enormously tall, like I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. His straight, thick brows are drawn together with worry and… puzzlement. My reaction is a mystery to him. In a flash I realize he has no idea why I’m crying, only speculations, and those aren’t good.

“I’m sorry,” I say, flustered.

Seb frowns. “Don’t apologize, I was the one -” he stops, looking more closely at me, “intruding on your private thoughts.”

I shrug, and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I was just -”

“No, it does -”

We stand there like idiots.

Seb glances over my shoulder and nods. “Lovely horse.”

“Oh! Yeah, he really is, he’s raced over two hundred starts, can you believe it? And still sound. And kind. I - yes, he is lovely, thanks.” I realize I am babbling. I take a breath, trying to pull my thoughts together. I have to look away from Seb, he’s not helping by simply standing there, and it’s not his fault he looks like a Spartan warrior. _Jesus._ “Sebastian,” I say, and he catches my chin in his hand.

“Thought you had a nickname for me?” he says, smiling, and I see he’s trying to inject some levity into the moment.

“Ah - okay...” I lick my lips and suppress the urge to giggle. “Basher.” And it works - I can’t help but smile. I take a breath for real now, and look up into his pale blue eyes. “I bet people underestimate you.”

He smiles back. “Maybe. It’s usually for the best.” He takes my arm and turns me towards the path. “Let’s walk.”

Down the lane we are silent as the dogs run back and forth. At our picnic spot I think we’ll be packing up, but instead Seb reaches into the cooler, pulls out two beers, and sits, patting the spot beside him. I settle in and he opens my beer, hands it to me, and raises his for a toast, albeit a silent one. He pulls me closer to him, until my head is nesting against his shoulder, and I realize with a start that Sebastian is - taking care of me? Really? Huh. That’s an interesting new wrinkle.

I take another sip and then speak. “Do you know what it’s like, really? It’s like someone - well, me actually, I do this - someone who eats meat but can’t bring themselves to kill. It’s ridiculous, you know? Total hypocrisy. And I know it, I fucking know it,” I say with some vehemence, but I’ve only begun. Seb just watches me. I’m sure he’s listened to his share of rants, in all his years with James. “Do you know I was a vegetarian for years, years and years because I couldn’t imagine killing something. You know, I fish but it has to be catch and release, I panic if they’re out of the water for too long.”

I feel myself getting a bit hysterical here, but I keep on because I need Seb to know what the fuck is wrong with me. I can see him waiting for me to connect my words with my actions, but he’s a very patient man, both by trade and by experience, and he says nothing.

“I know that’s unnatural, I know it’s me and my stance that isn’t in the natural order of things, nature is cruel, uncaring. Individual life means nothing to her. I understand that. And of course I didn’t stop being a vegetarian because we’ve evolved with teeth designed to chew meat or because I wanted to connect with my inner human animal or anything like that.” I take a long drink and shake my head,  “I was in France and someone offered me foie gras. And I said to myself, _Self, you only live once. You should try this._ “ I lean back and look up at the trees. “So now, not only are we talking about killing, but about a practice many consider inhumane. And for what? For my survival? No. For my pleasure - for my curiosity, and my pleasure.”

I turn and look at Seb. His face is impassive, but I see he’s taking it all in, considering. Poor Seb, people have probably always shortchanged his intelligence and education in light of his physicality. It’s a curse, in a way, to be beautiful.

I sigh. “So I came back to the States and I thought, well, you’ve done this, and done that, so you know, go ahead and have some bacon. Have a steak. Tastes good. I don’t need it, I just like it. But am I willing to face up to what’s required to have that pleasure? No. Because I’m a hypocrite. Because I’m ordinary.”

I swallow my rising tears and force myself to speak clearly. “That’s the problem, Seb - Basher,” I correct myself. “I am ordinary. And you and James are not.”

I finish my beer in one long draught and pet the dogs, who hear the pain in my voice and crowd against me, wanting comfort. This I can do.

Seb is quiet, thinking. He’s just so fucking reassuring, just being close to him, his physical presence. I let my head sink back onto his shoulder. He kisses my forehead, and reaches into the cooler. He opens another beer for each of us and as he does, says, “I need a pet name for you, as well. I can’t go calling you by your Christian name all the time, it’s too formal. Too James.” And to my great amusement, he breaks into a spot-on impression: “Reallly, Anaïs” - he draws out the syllables for emphasis - “I simply can’t be bothered with such inconsequential concerns.” I giggle despite myself. “No,” says Seb, laughing, “but you do get my meaning.”

The beer has taken the edge off of him, and me as well. “I don’t have any suggestions,” I say, but he cuts in.

“Nah, I’ve already decided - I’ll call you Top.”

“Top?” Have I misheard? “Top, like I’m a top, you’re a bottom? Because that doesn’t sound in character at all.”

Seb laughs, a broad, brazen smile showing all of his teeth. It reminds me of a shark. “Oh, that’s in character for one of us, all right, but that would not be myself. D’ya think I didn’t notice the welts you left?”

Now I’m mortified as well as bewildered, which only makes Seb laugh harder. When he finally gets ahold of himself, he says, “Nooo - top, tuppence, two pence, two cents - you’re opinionated. Get it?”

I frown. “What? Is this some Irish version of Cockney rhyming slang?”

Seb grins, pleased. “Yeah, you could say that. My da - well, he’s a lord, so of course I had a posh accent, but I sounded like a bloody wanker when I went in to the army, so I did just the opposite of James, I took mine down a notch or two. And it sent my da into fits, so that was a right bonus.”

A lord? And Sebastian a rebel against the class structure? Fascinating. I wonder what else is hidden below the surface of this man.

He sees my interest and shrugs it away. “So, Top, listen here. You’re way too wound up about this.”

“What?” I am suddenly pissed. “Too wound up? I -”

Seb starts laughing again as I sputter. “Nah, you’re not wound at all. Now be quiet.” I shut my mouth in quiet astonishment as he continues. “First, I can fix this.” I just stare at him, more confused than ever. “Second, I know you’re not ordinary,” he says, firmly.

“How?” I break in. “How do you know that?”

“Because James chose you.” Sebastian looks down at me assessingly. “And James wouldn’t choose someone ordinary, Top.” He takes a long drink of beer then, and I see something flicker across his face - anger? - but it’s gone too quickly for me to be sure. Seb looks away for a minute and takes a deep breath before turning back to me. “Forgive me for what I’m about to say, Anaïs.”

 _Uh-oh._ I glance up at him, unnerved, but he’s wearing that blank look again and he looks out to the paddocks as he speaks.

“I’ve known James since I was a lad. My entire adult life, I’ve known this man. I know how he works, I know how he breathes. I know he talks in his sleep.” I glance at Seb, surprised. He grunts, “Oh, you didn’t know that, aye? Well, he’s not under any pressure at the moment. But you’ll see.” He shrugs and looks out at the horses again. “And in all this time, I’ve only known James to kiss one other person besides yourself,” he says quietly. “D’ya get what I’m saying to you?” Seb looks at me, but I’m speechless.

He shakes his head, and I can see his jaw working as he looks over my face. “And why? Why you? Do you ever wonder? Is it because you’re pretty? Maybe you’re a great fuck? D’ya know how many girls in the world - how many women -” The thick emotion in his voice betrays his blank face, and I can hear his own disbelief at this turn of events. “D’ya have any idea, any idea at all, of what we’ve had? What we’ve done? Shared?”

I see him gather himself together and look away before he says something cruel, but I also see the temptation, and my tongue feels caught in my throat. I feel faintly sick, and if I could run away I probably would, but I feel glued to the spot like one of those nightmares where all your limbs are made of lead. Seb looks inward, into the past, gathering all the threads of his memories together, and then turns and grasps my chin in his hand so I can’t move and I’m staring into his eyes, now just icy-grey.

“Don’t misunderstand. You’re pretty enough. You have a great ass, and great taste in shoes. You’re wild on the inside and you’re real. But that’s not why. That’s not THE why, Top. The why is because you’re not ordinary.” And with that he lets go of my chin, forcefully, so that I almost bite my lip. I’m too shocked to say anything, and in another moment he speaks again, but his voice is deadly quiet. “I know about the Senator, Top. I was there.”

_Oh, GOD - Of course. Why would I ever think otherwise? James doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. But the man called Basher - he loves it. All of it. Violence is his drug, isn’t it?_

I feel nauseous and I put my head between my knees and force myself to breathe normally for a few minutes until I have it under control. James and I have never spoken of it, not once, since I came back to him. I suppose in some part of my mind I was just willing it to not exist, to never have happened. Just file it away in a locked vault and move on…

 _Jesus H. Christ._ I shove the thought out of my head, and look around. I want to do something, anything, but I can’t figure out what in the hell I should be doing, so I start to rise, but Seb pushes me back down, but gently now. “Sit.” He pulls a pack of American Spirits out of his pocket. I’ve been a non-smoker for three years but I don’t hesitate for a second when he offers one and pulls out his Zippo. I exhale gratefully as the jolt of nicotine hits my brain.

Seb takes a long drag and looks at me, thoughtfully. “You just don’t have the training.”

I look at him in disbelief. “Training? What the fuck, Seb? I’m a writer, I ride horses, I know racetracks, I make jam. I go to clubs. What the fuck are you talking about?”

Seb looks at me coolly, and I suddenly remember that he was a Colonel before he retired. He’s a leader, used to making decisions, and used to having those decisions followed. “Training, Top. Proper training. Let’s go back to part one. I can fix this - your dilemma. But you’ll have to trust me, and you’ll have to do what I say.”

“Oh,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else.

We sit in silence, smoking. The farm is sublimely beautiful as the sun begins to set through the trees, the warm golden light dancing in and out of the branches.

Seb stubs his cigarette out and field-strips it, military style. “Top -”

I look at him, searching. He looks...world-weary. “Yeah?”

He crouches beside me, and grabs my cigarette, putting it out. He leans in, so his mouth is just next to my ear. “There are some lines, when you cross them - they cease to exist.”

He reaches his hands to hold me still, and then he’s kissing me and suddenly I understand - what he’s just said, it’s more than just this moment, more than one layer of meaning.

_It cuts across everything._


	13. Chapter 13

Seb pulls me to my feet and we stand for a moment with my hands in his. It’s a strangely formal moment, as if we’re taking a vow, although to what exactly, I couldn’t say. I look up, searching for an answer, and with a serious expression Sebastian leans down and kisses me lightly on the lips. As with all of his physicality, I find it incredibly reassuring. He’s the kind of man from whom you can gather strength; I feel it now, pulling me back to earth, running solidly into my veins, and I start to have an understanding of just what is transpiring here.

The lines we’re about to cross - they’re not just mine, are they?

I meet his eyes. “Are you scared?” I ask.

He doesn’t even blink. “No. I’ve learned to trust my gut.”

I open my mouth to speak, and then hesitate. Glancing down, I ask, “How am I supposed to trust you when I don’t even know you?”

“The same way I’m trusting you - by recommendation. And by necessity.”

I swallow. _I’m jumping, I’m falling, my sanity is calling._ But I know he’s right - it is a necessity. Something about my world has turned upside down - again - and I need to be agile enough to adapt or I’m lost. I nod, and look into his eyes.

“Okay.” I squeeze his hands, and back away.

In the house we do simple things. I put our picnic away and Seb brings our bags in from the foyer. I show him the guest room and he drops his bag inside the door, then continues on to the master suite. “I don’t know how you prefer to sleep,” I say by way of explanation, “so, you have options. Also, the dogs usually sleep in here with me.”

He grins. “I like dogs.”

I shake my head. “Of course, you do, you’re Irish.”

He snorts. “So you think we’re just a nation of foxhunters, aye?”

I smile at him, despite feeling like strangers ever since we came in. “Well...yes. And beer drinkers. And poets,” I add hastily.

He laughs, the laugh where he shows all his teeth. Laughter comes easily to him. “That’s about right, then.”

I start to turn away and Seb grabs my arm. “Fancy a bath?” he asks, still grinning. “I believe I owe you a foot rub.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t mean that the other way around?”

He just grins, and goes off to start the tub running.

I unpack my bag and check my phone. Nothing. It’s not unusual; as much as I love James, he’s unpredictable and feels no need to do anything so pedestrian as ‘check in’ with one another. If I was hurt, he’d know it, and if I needed something, I’d call, is his way of thinking. Pragmatic. And he doesn’t like being kept in a routine, or having to meet boring expectations. James is James, no more, no less, and even the faint unease I feel or the need for reassurance doesn’t inspire me to text him. It’s best left alone, I think. I leave the phone on the nightstand and strip down, donning a short satin robe James has given me to match a babydoll nightgown. I won’t be needing the nightgown tonight, I’m pretty certain.

Grabbing water for both of us from the kitchen, I meet Seb in the master bath, which features a soaking tub with room for at least two. Well, two normal sized people. Seb’s already up to his neck in water and taking up the majority of it. “So, first night, and you’re already hogging the bathtub, is that it?” I tease.

Seb slides up, exposing his well-defined chest and sloshing water over the side. “Top,” he says cheerfully, “Bring me your beautiful toes.” And he grins like the ruffian he is, tapping his fingers together in a row.

But to my surprise, he really does give me a foot rub. And as I sink into the water and close my eyes, one foot on his thigh and the other in his hands as he kneads away my anxiety and fear, I realize again that he is taking care of me. There’s a playful, sexual element to it, yes, but of all the things he could be doing, he’s creating a space for me to relax, physically and emotionally.

By the time he finishes with both feet, all the tension has drained out of my body. “Put your legs up,” he says, patting the edge of the tub. I do, one leg on either side of his chest. He reaches for the shaving cream and razor and begins to massage my calves as he lathers.

I’ve never been shaved by a lover and discover it’s as erotic as I’ve always imagined. The slight thrill of danger as he runs the blade across my skin, staying perfectly still as I watch his long fingers trace across my skin - all of that is titillating, but most erotic to me is the incredible intimacy of it: Seb’s complete concentration as he feels the muscles and sinews and curves of my legs. It’s his way of learning my body, and what an attentive student he proves to be... Good lord, but he’s a potent combination.

He rinses off my legs and gives me another of his rakish smiles. “Up here,” he pats the edge of the tub again, this time at the end where it fits into the raised, tiled ledge. “Sit,” he directs me, and spreads my legs. I see his mouth part slightly, and he glances up at me just briefly. “You might want to lean back,” he says before turning his attention back to my inner thighs and pink, wet pussy. Reaching for the shaving cream, he puts his head on my knee, spreading my legs further apart as he kneels in the water. “Tip your ass up a bit, there, that’s good.”

As I watch him ever-so-carefully run the razor over the tender skin of my inner thighs, I realize we have turned the corner from erotic to slow, deliberate, straight lust. I want him with every nerve in my body but I can’t move when he has the blade on my skin. I flash back to - what, two days ago? - with James and the knife, and with a sudden thrill of lust I realize this is no coincidence, Seb learned this from James or vice versa, and what I wouldn’t give to be the witness to that knifeplay…

By the time he rinses me, I’m almost shaking with the effort of not moving, and he places his hands on either side of my hips and pulls me to the edge of the tub. When he dips his head between my thighs, I moan with relief, his tongue exploring and probing every fold of my lips as I find my hands in his hair, pressing his face deeper into my pussy. And he loves it, I can tell by the way he responds, pulling my thighs up over his shoulders and thrusting his tongue deep inside me. He’s learning my body, yes, but also reveling in it, and it makes me feel beautiful. He moves his tongue back to my clit, sucking now with an intensified rhythm that makes my hips rise to meet him, and I realize that this isn’t just foreplay, he wants me to come on his face.

That, I think, would be my pleasure in more ways than one. Much like a man, I enjoy marking my lovers and the thought of tall, gorgeous Sebastian with my pussy juices smeared across his beautiful features causes my hips to involuntarily move in tandem with him. I look down, my hands in his short, fiery hair, and watch as he sucks my clit, and that’s it, it’s way too much stimulation and it pushes me over the edge, crying out and arching against him and his hands grab my ass, pressing my cunt further into his mouth as I come and he thrusts his tongue deep inside me.

Seb lays his head on my thigh as we catch our breath, and when he stands up I see he has a massively thick erection standing at full attention. He pulls me to a standing position. “Shower,” he says curtly, his voice rough.

We step out of the tub and I move to him, pressing my body against his hard, defined abs so his cock rests against my stomach, and I stand on tiptoe, sliding my arms around his neck and when he leans down to kiss me I can taste myself on his lips, he smells of me, and that’s a thrill all its own.

Instinctively I raise my leg up to wrap around him, my foot resting on the edge of the tub, and he gives into it for a moment, cupping my ass in his large hands and pressing me against him, before abruptly shoving me away. “Shower,” he says firmly.

Under the spray of water we rinse, and I move into his arms again. His kiss is lazy and slow and exploratory, and it’s driving me crazy. “No,” he says, kissing my neck, “I’ve had you twice too quickly, and we’re not doing that tonight.” I arch against him in protest, but he gathers me up in his strong arms and whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry, I’m going to fuck you in this shower. Just not tonight.”

I look up and he gives me the grin with all the teeth, bold. He’s playing with me. “This is payback, isn’t it? For the salon?” I ask, thoroughly amused.

“Och, aye, and the nightclub? Rubbing up against me indecently?” he teases, and I laugh.

“Oh, payback’s a bitch.” I shake my head, but I can’t keep a straight face. “Sucks to be me.”

Seb turns the water off and catches me up in his arms easily, not bothering to dry me off, and carrying me, strides out the door and across the room to my bed, tossing me gently onto the quilt. As he kneels between my legs, I reach up to trace the water droplets on his broad chest with my fingers and then my tongue, loving the feel of his nipples between my teeth. As my tongue moves down to his navel I feel Seb’s indrawn breath and then his hands are in my hair, forcibly restraining me. “No. Nope. Nu-uh, we’re not doing that either,” he says through gritted teeth. “I do a pretty bang-on job but Jesus, Top, every man has a limit.”

It’s possibly the sexiest thing he’s ever said to me, since I want nothing more than to see him lose control completely.

He gently but firmly pushes me backwards. “Lay down,” he says, “We’re going to do this properly.”

“Properly?”

“Yes, properly, like it’s the first time.” He leans down and kisses me achingly slowly. I let myself relax into it, fall into it, drift with him. When it ends I look into his eyes, now deeply blue with desire.

“Why?” I ask softly.

His eyes move from mine to take in my whole face before he answers. “Because, Anaïs,” he says huskily, “we’re entering into a partnership, you and I. And this night is our oath.”

As he leans to kiss me again, my lips opening to his to answer his words, I realize this is one of the lines to cross.

After tonight, it’s an alliance.

This is what I learn.

Doing it properly means not just slowing down so that every touch is fully felt, not just exploring and learning and awakening to one another, but being laid bare, fully, so that every part of yourself is available, and vulnerable. Doing it properly meant I had to step down from my easy, familiar, dominant position, the one that kept me in control, to a place where I discovered how it feels to be truly open, receptive, trusting.

It was terrifying.

But I had Sebastian to hold my hand, figuratively and, at moments, literally. This man, capable of such ferocity, set aside his defenses to unabashedly worship me as the feminine. He tasted me, explored me, cherished me, all the while keeping me with him, always with him, until our bodies began to move in sync and I stopped being frightened and instead began to offer myself as the source of all he needed.

It was the archetypal dance of male and female and it transformed us. And it bonded us, just as Seb said it would.

In the future there might be other lovers, playful grins, superficial moments taking our sexuality for granted, and certainly we both belonged to James, and that would never change.

But we had exchanged pieces of our souls on this night, and the exchange, as we both chose to will it so, was irrevocable.

In the morning, I find myself awake with my body intertwined with Seb’s, his cock hard against my stomach with a morning erection. I’m a bit sore - Jesus, but it’s been a long three days - and we hardly slept last night, but I just can’t resist feeling his thickness again, and I arch my hips, while my hands guide him inside. I hear a muffled, “Mmm, OH” and feel a jolt through my body as Seb goes from asleep to awake, thrusting deeply as he grabs my shoulders and buries his head in my neck. I run my hands over the muscles of his shoulders and back, marveling at his beauty. It’s a haze of sunlight and heat, muscles straining as we reach ever closer to the center of things until, once again, we find our release together, and I hear myself moaning his name as if I’m desperate.

And maybe I am, maybe I am.

Seb lays his head on my chest, eyes closed, and I gently stroke his back with my fingertips. I both hear and feel his sigh of pleasure as he drifts off, and soon I follow.

The text tone of my phone jolts me awake, and I grab for it before it wakes Seb. It’s James, of course, the only person for whom I would bother to answer.

His text is brief: _What are you wearing?_

Oh, James, and his penchant for nightgowns. I can’t help but giggle softly.

I smile wickedly, and carefully, making sure not to wake Seb, take a selfie with Sebastian sprawled across my breasts.

I type: _Your boyfriend._

His reply is quick: _Looks good on you._

Oh, the bastard. I can’t help answering: _You’d know, you’re the one who picked him out._

I can almost hear his laughter in the reply: _Ah, but I have an eye for such things._

God, I hate him. I love him. I no longer know the difference.

I put my phone away, and my reply is only in my mind, my mind and my heart and my stomach as I realize what’s actually happening here:

_I miss you, James. Don’t leave me like this. I miss you so much…_

But it’s far too late for such sentiment.

 


	14. Chapter 14

In the kitchen I put the coffee on, then head to the bathroom to grab a quick shower. When I return, Seb is leaning against the counter, cup in hand, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. _Good Lord._ I tear my gaze away from the ginger hair trailing down below his navel and head for the coffee cups.

“Morning,” he says, amused.

“Morning, Basher.” I can’t meet his eyes. I reach on my tiptoes for my favorite cup and nearly drop it when I feel his hand on my ass under my robe. “Sebastian!” I whirl around but he’s standing right behind me and I only succeed in pressing myself up against him, his face just above mine.

He raises his eyebrows, and then relinquishes his advantage and kisses the top of my head. “I was getting that,” he says, and taking the cup out of my hand, steps back, and saunters to the coffee pot. “How do you like it?” he asks, his thick, ginger eyebrows making an almost comical asterisk. He grins now, showing all his teeth, like he does when he’s not just amused but pleased with himself.

I just shake my head at his double-entendre. “I like it well enough,” I shrug, smiling, “with milk, no sugar. I don’t like things overly sweet,” I add, pointedly.

He laughs, and hands me the cup. I take the mug from him cautiously, and he grins as he steps closer. “What’s wrong, Top?”

I back up hastily. “Don’t touch me. I’m not kidding. I’m supposed to ride today and I’m already sore enough.”

Seb just quirks his mouth. “Who said anything to the contrary, then?”

The coffee is a lifesaver. I take a big gulp as fortification. “Oh, please. Like you’re going to stand there in your sweatpants showing the world you’re hung like a horse and looking like a fucking sex god and yeah - you know, nothing’s gonna happen.”

He steps closer but I’m up against the counter so I can’t back up.

“I could take them off, would that be better?” He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Right here...on the counter...your legs right around my waist...like the first time…” he trails off suggestively, one arm on either side of me against the counter. I am basically eye level with his nipples, a distinct disadvantage.

I duck under his arm and grab my coffee. “What did you say last night in the shower? You will but not today? Huh. Payback’s a bitch.” Mocking him, I look out the window and stroke my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm...so many things to do… so many mornings…”

Seb laughs. “I can see why he likes you. Even before coffee you’re good.”

I take several steps back, hoping I look nonchalant. “Basher… coming from you - as recently as, I don’t know, say an hour ago? - I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling appreciatively. “You’ve the tongue of an adder. He did mention it, you know.”

I take a long sip of my coffee, savoring it as I watch Seb move with easy grace. “Mmm...but did you listen?”

He leans back against the counter in his original stance, and picks up his own cup.”I’ve been known to tune out the static on occasion.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh as he ever-so-casually sips his coffee and looks at me over his cup, raising his thick eyebrows. His eyes are the color of the sky this morning, and it strikes me, suddenly, that Seb is happy. _Happy._ Well, shit. I have the feeling I’m about to be the pin in this particular balloon.

I take a breath. “Incidentally,” I say, keeping my voice light, “I’m supposed to tell you that your job for today, should you choose to accept it, is to paint. Your current canvas, easel, and paints are located - I think, I haven’t checked - in the studio.”

Seb says nothing, but I can practically see the thunderheads threatening to erase any trace of blue sky. One fingers taps on his coffee mug in annoyance.

I raise one hand as if to fend off the impending storm. “What? I’m just the messenger.”

He sighs. “I know. It’s just interesting: Does he really think I’m more likely to do what he says if you say it for him?”

There’s a multitude of possibilities within that question but I’m so fucking tired of analyzing James and his games that I just shrug. “I dunno. You know him better than I do.”

Sebastian frowns, like he’s about to say something but thinks better of it. He refills our cups in silence, then pads to the refrigerator and studies the contents. When he turns back, he’s outwardly cheerful. “Okay, Top, off you go. I’ll make breakfast.”

I raise my eyebrows.

Just the corners of his mouth turn up. “I can cook, you know.”

I raise my free hand again, this time in supplication as I back out of the room. “And God made the perfect man.”

Seb gives me a mock salute and we both grin.

Blue skies restored, at least for today.

I’ve ridden two of our retired racehorses and am thinking of riding Gladstone while there’s still at least an ounce of strength in my legs - my GOD, this weekend is taking a toll - when I see Holly’s eyebrows raise as she glances over my shoulder. As the farm’s lead trainer, she’s responsible for tracking the progress of all our retirees, and we’ve just been exchanging notes. Her eyes widen. “Ohhhh, snap,” she says in her rich southern drawl, “Who’s that?”

I smile, but she never sees it as she stares past me, licking her lips unconsciously. I shake my head and sigh. “Lemme guess. Is he about 6’4”, ginger, and built like a Greek god?”

She nods, never taking her eyes off him. “Yeee-ep.”

Tucking my riding crop in my boot, I take off one of my gloves and rub the space between my eyes. Oy vey. “That would be Sebastian.”

I glance around the arena, realizing a hush has fallen. To my great amusement, my assistant trainer and both working students seem to be having the exactly the same reaction as Holly. _Good grief._ I turn around to see Seb, dressed casually in jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to his well-defined chest and broad shoulders, striding towards us, teeth bared in his happy-shark-smile. His shoulder-to-waist ratio is absurd. The man should be illegal.

“Brace yourself,” I whisper to Holly as I see him about to speak.

“Hello, ladies,” Seb calls out to the arena in general.

“Oh, Jesus take the wheel,” Holly mutters under her breath. “He has an accent,” she whispers back to me.

“I know.” I shake my head mournfully. Sebastian is a dreadfully unfair proposition if you’re unprepared.

“Top!” Seb calls to me. “How goes your first day back? Not too sore, are ye?”

I smother a laugh under a cough. “Oh, erm, FINE. Fine, thanks for asking. So far, so good.”

He strides across the arena, bouncing on the balls of his feet with an athlete’s grace, and grins at me. I suddenly realize that Holly hasn’t noticed the three other riders in the arena have now decided, in tandem, to practice small circles off the rail next to us. Since it’s obvious that no one’s actually paying attention to anything other than the collective female fantasy that is Sebastian, I give up and call them in with a quick wave.

Holly, who’s 5’1” in stocking feet, is staring up at him with the sweetly calculating smile of a Southern belle, apparently unaware that she’s unconsciously rubbing the end of her dressage whip. As I make introductions, Seb never misses a beat. He kisses Holly’s hand and blinks his blue eyes just a time too many as he stares into her eyes, and she’s slightly breathless as he releases her. As I include the mounted riders, he turns and with each, uses some perfected, yet still seemingly sincere gesture to make each woman feel as if she’s the only one in the world at that moment. One of my working students, just eighteen, gets so flustered at his thousand-watt smile she actually drops her riding crop, and blushes thoroughly when he picks it up, patting her horse, and hands it to her.

“So,” I say in the awkward silence that ensues, “what do you need?”

He grins at me and narrows his eyes, and I know it’s my turn to be floored.

“Need?” He raises his thick ginger brows and looks at me with calculated naivete. “Why, you, of course.”

Now all the female gazes in the room are on me. _Ooooh, the fucker._ I tighten my lips with the effort to not swear. “Okay,” I say, and grab him by the arm, propelling him towards the gate, “You win.”

Once we’re out of earshot, I start laughing, and reach to throw a playful punch at his bicep, but, perhaps reflexively, perhaps purposefully, he steps to block me and without thinking, I distract him with a knee to the groin and and elbow to the face - though not at all hard enough to do any damage - before I follow through with my original punch when his hands drop. I’m horrified, though, and I freeze, which he takes advantage of immediately, grabbing my wrists and pinning my arms behind my back and kissing me, hard.

“Dammit!” I sputter, when he lets up.

He still holds my wrists, and he looks me over like I’m a particularly pleasing subject. “Never freeze, Top, never pull punches, and never regret anything you do on instinct.” He tips his head to kiss me again, and it catches fire but there’s nothing I can do with my wrists still held captive. I’m the one who’s breathless this time and he laughs softly. “Oh, yes, Top, I’m gonna enjoy supervising your training, I really think so,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. He straightens and gives me back my mobility with a gentle shove. “You have good reflexes, that’s something I can’t teach.” He nods appreciatively.

I step back, rubbing my wrists. _What does he actually mean by training me?_ I shy away from the thought of our last conversation and take a different tack. “What the hell was that all about, Basher? You NEED me? Jesus.” I shake my head.

“Laid it on a bit thick, did I?” He looks completely unrepentant.

“You think? Seriously, does that happen to you all the time?”

“What?” He gives me his trademark blank face, but I see the corners of his mouth creeping up.

“You know what. Women falling all over themselves.”

“Not everyone reacts to meeting me by slapping me across the face,” he says, mildly.

_Oh, really?_ I take a very deep breath. “Let me put this in your native tongue, Seb: Sod. You.”

He bursts out laughing. Pulling me to his chest, he kisses me with all his well-tuned male magnetism, and before I know it, we’re just standing there, in front of the barn, making out like teenagers. _Jesus. No, no, nope._ I pull myself away. “Stop, just stop it.”

Seb smiles his shark smile. “What?”

I back up. “You did not come all the way down here just to kiss me. What’s up?”

“Why are we stopping?”

“Because we have an audience,” I hiss.

He glances into the shadows of the barn. “Nah,” he says, disbelieving.

“Yes,” I insist, “If the position were reversed I’d be watching, too, and I’m their boss, remember?”

“I’ve seen you kiss my boss and it didn’t affect my work ethic,” he says, smirking.

I give him the look of doom. “Let’s try this again: Hello, Sebastian. Why did you come down here?”

“To check on your relative soreness?”

“I could strangle you in your sleep, you know.”

He nods knowingly. “If we did sleep, aye?”

I want to hop up and down in frustration but instead I count backwards from ten and smile. “Sebastian, I am BUSY. Perhaps you think this is just a hobby, but actually it’s a registered non-profit, which means it is an actual BUSINESS, and I actually RUN IT, so tell me what the hell you want before I pull my riding crop out of my boot and smack you with it. And you KNOW that’s not an idle threat.”

Sebastian grins broadly. “Ah, you’re such fun when you get a head of steam, Top. When does your horse race next?”

I am broadsided by the abrupt change of subject. “Pardon?”

“I came to ask when your horses race next,” he says, patiently.

“Umm...the end of the week, most likely. Why?”

“Oh, I have a few errands in Sacramento and I thought maybe I’d join you.”

Errands? Really? That sounds awfully fishy, but then, it’s not really my place to question what Sebastian Moran does on his time off, so I just nod. “Sure. That’d be lovely.” I look at him closely. “...And that couldn’t wait until this afternoon?”

Seb just grins. “Nope, definitely not.”

It occurs to me that I’ve never told him about my racehorses, or that they race in Sacramento, or that I almost always go to see them race in person. Well, who knows what James is telling Sebastian, or how he’s subtly shaping my days. I’ll never be able to keep up with James and his machinations, and at the moment I don’t even feel like trying.

Seb is staring at me quizzically. “Top?”

“Yeah? Sorry, I just… a lot on my mind.”

Seb’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing, then grins. “Come give us a kiss, love,” he says.

“You’re using your accent against me.”

“Of course. Here’s the fourth rule of today’s lesson: Use whatever means you have at hand.”

“Fourth rule? Did I miss something? When did today become a lesson?””

But the only answer I get is, “Think.” And he grins as he kisses me on the top of the head, and walks away.

Puzzled, I quickly review our interactions. _Oh. Of course. “Never freeze, Top, never pull punches, and never regret anything you do on instinct.”_

I frown. Just what, exactly, is he getting at?

 

I can feel my face getting hot as I walk back into the arena, but to my profound appreciation, everyone studiously looks away. Well, everyone except Holly, who looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Wow.”

“We’re really mostly just friends,” I explain.

Holly just shakes her head knowingly. “Bless your heart.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

At the end of the day, I really am sore, but happy to see how the horses are progressing. I walk along the lane with my thoughts still back at the barn. I have a pile of paperwork to attend to, but we've hired good people and the day-to-day activities of the farm hums along in the hands of the barn manager and lead trainer. It’s been just two months up and running, and I'm very pleased.

I almost trip over myself, I stop so fast - two months? That means it’s been three months since the infamous night at the hotel, and I never saw Seb again until now - why? I mean, God forbid I delve too far into James’ business, but it was curious, wasn’t it? Seems like a long time for James to be without his right-hand man. Or was he purposefully keeping Seb away from me? And if so, to what end?

_James._ He haunts my thoughts, even in his absence.

Instead of turning to walk up to the main house, I take the trail down to the studio, but I don't really see the late afternoon beauty, so wrapped up am I in my woolgathering.

If James wanted to keep me from meeting Seb, I suppose it wouldn't be that difficult. I've spent most of my time at the farm, only visiting James once a week or so. I always call in advance, and besides, didn’t James say Sebastian would most likely find his own flat? I realize I don't even know where Seb lives.

It’s disconcerting to realize just how much of my life I'm taking on faith. What did James say just a few days ago? _“To you, my dear, trust is giving in to a belief, the belief that I hold your best interests at heart.”_

As I come around the corner of the flagstone patio, I see Seb washing his paintbrushes. The sun hits his hair just right so it’s a fiery halo, and when he glances up at me with his piercing gaze, for just a moment I see Sebastian, the avenging angel, the beautiful and cold face that has been the last visage for how many men? _Revelation 9:11 And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon, the destroyer._

I stop, my brain whirling. _Oh, James._ He has his Raphael, and his Apollyon. God Heals and God Destroys. I just stand at the edge of the patio as the idea plays itself out as if it were a mathematical theorem. I can only see the edges of the puzzle, though, and it’s not enough, not enough data, and frustrating. But there’s something there, I’m sure of it. James doesn’t believe in coincidence, and neither do I.

****  


“Top,” Sebastian’s voice breaks into my reverie, “You okay?”

“What?” I blink, and see Seb turn the spigot off and straighten up, his brows drawn together in concern. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.” I move into his arms instinctively. I take a deep breath with my head against his broad chest and feel my worry start to retreat. He wraps his free arm around me and kisses my forehead, and once again, I draw strength from him. And he loves that, I sense his desire to provide himself as my strength, and without words I accept it, eagerly.

I kiss his neck, just where the fine muscles meet the jugular, then turn and walk to his canvas. It’s not the unfinished portrait of me, but a new painting of the view from the studio. He’s somehow caught the motion of the horses against the timeless vista of the farm, the trees and paddocks shimmering with light.

“You're really very good,” I say.

Seb looks very pleased but only says, “Thank you,” and turns to the open French doors, smiling privately. “Fancy a beer?” he calls over his shoulder, and I know Lupita, bless her, has stocked the mini fridge for us.

“Yeah,” I call, “Lovely.”

Seb returns momentarily, and hands me an opened bottle. His gaze is assessing, unflinching. I feel naked. “So?” he says, quietly.

I take a long drink, and settle into the patio chaise longue. “I was just thinking about how little I really know in this life, I mean, where have you been in the last three months? Why did I never meet you - formally, that is.” I can't help my small smile. “How long have you known about me? I don't even know where you live.”

Seb’s wearing his blank look, but I know him better now and I can see in his eyes that he’s doing some rapid thinking. We're both quiet for a bit, and I stretch my sore legs, waiting.

Finally, he says, “James has more charisma than anyone I've ever met, and I've met celebrities, politicians, world leaders…” His words trail off. (And killed them, I think, irreverently, but I keep my mouth shut.) He continues, “When you’re in his company, you feel you could do anything. And would. It doesn't take long before you can’t imagine your life without him in it. He’s like a drug - I've told you that.” I nod, and he looks at me pointedly. “I can't answer your questions, Top, they're not mine to answer. You'd really want to be asking James. But I will tell you this. In all the time I've made my life about him, I've never had cause to regret it.”

“Never?” I ask, softly.

Seb looks down at the paint on his hands, but I know it’s really just a way of hiding his expression. When he looks up again, his face is blank, but his eyes are sad, and I realize he’s chosen to let me see this. “I'll not lie to ya, Top. I've had my regrets, and I’ve had my doubts, yeah, I have. But they were never about Jaime. They were only about myself.”

His words hang for a moment between us, and I set down my beer and bend to unzip my half-chaps and take off my paddock boots, giving Seb a moment to compose himself again. I strip off my socks and roll up my breeches, stretching my toes. “Not quite as lovely after a long day of riding, eh?” I tease gently, seeing the direction of Seb’s gaze.

“Nothing a quick spot in the bath wouldn't fix,” he says, smiling, but his gaze turns to the paddocks and he looks thoughtful as he returns to my questions. “And as I've said, I've never seen James choose someone before - excepting myself, of course.”

We look at each other for a long minute, and it’s like being strangers again.

I drop my gaze first, taking a long drink of beer. “How long have you known about me?”

Sebastian shrugs. “From the beginning. Think, Anaïs. D’ya really think James would have just anyone touch your things. Your personal things, aye?”

I know now that whenever Seb uses my Christian name he’s about to drop a bomb in my lap, and this is no exception, but I feel stupid for not realizing it before. “My fucking SOCKS,” I say, indignant, “My comforter! You, you did that, YOU FUCKER.” Seb is laughing at my reaction, but I see something else, what is it? His eyes tell me. Oh. _Oh, it wasn’t easy for him, was it, touching my things, being in my home, knowing that James had chosen a new companion. Oh, Seb… It hurt._ And? I close my eyes for a moment and it comes to me. _He did it on purpose, didn't he? James knew it would hurt, he was punishing you...with me._  I look up at Seb, stricken.

Seb nods at my understanding, and when he speaks, his voice is serious. “You made a choice that day when you got in the car. You can't go questioning it all the time or you'll drive yourself mad. It’s a waste of time to wonder why James does what he does, you'll never know the whole story.”

“It doesn't bother you?”

“No.” His eyes are a steely grey now, and once again I see the military man, the Sebastian who sees a mission through to the end, regardless of personal sacrifice. “I owed James my life, and I gave it to him. It’s different for you. But here’s my point.” He gestures broadly to the expanse of farm surrounding us. “You have every reason to be happy. And if James were here, you would be. None of these questions would be in your mind.” He turns to me now, and points at me. “You think you're trying to sort it all out, but the truth is, you're just suffering withdrawals. That’s how it works.” He takes the empty bottle out of my hand and stands. I watch his graceful movements as he heads inside and returns with two more bottles.

“So you do understand,” I say, as I take the bottle he offers.

He nods, frowning. “Aye, I do, I just don't experience it anymore.” He laughs suddenly, but without humor. “You could almost say - the way you feel - it’s the instinct of self-preservation fighting to be heard.”

“And that’s not a good thing?”

Sebastian sits next to me, and what he does next is almost as shocking as his words: He takes my hand in his. “You've traded,” he says softly. “You gave up the urge to keep yourself safe, and in return, you have more security and resources than you could possibly ever provide for yourself.” He shakes his head as he watches his words sink in. “Even as you fight it, you're already quite adjusted to it. Your comfort, your needs being met. It’s a Faustian bargain.”

It feels so good to hold Seb’s hand; it’s the only thing keeping me grounded as I contemplate the enormity of his words. _My God._ I take his hand and press it to my cheek. “I can see why he loves you.”

Seb looks startled.

I shrug. “He told me.”

We sit in silence, sipping our beers, each with our very separate, yet connected thoughts: _James._ He’s what binds us. The axis, the center of it all.

****  


I stand up, finishing my beer in one long swallow. “I’m headed for the shower. Feel free to join me.” I hurriedly kiss him and walk away before he can say anything. I can’t take any more words right now, but I have to fight the urge to call James, just to hear his voice, the lovely dulcet tones that I've followed blindly. _Christ._ Everything Sebastian said was true, and what’s my first reaction? _James, will you fix this, James, can you make it all better?_ What the fuck am I even doing?

I carelessly strip down in the mud room, knowing Lupita’s left for the day, and keep moving until I’m standing under the shower head, letting the water run over me. I can feel Seb behind me before I hear him, he’s that quiet and I’m that hypersensitive. He wraps his arms around me and presses his body against mine, kissing my neck. It’s sexual but not sexual - of course that simple response is there, but I feel his concern overshadowing it. He pulls me into his body like he can protect me, and I let him soothe me. I don't know how long we stand like that - long enough for our breathing to come into sync, long enough for my flight reaction to slowly subside, until at last I open my eyes and look up at this fascinating, complex man.

Okay, here are the facts: I’m standing in the shower with one of the most beautiful men I've ever met in my life, and I'm emotionally stressed out. What should I do? What could I possibly do that would make me feel better?

I swear, I'm becoming more like a man every day. It’s like a survival technique around here.

Turning, I link my arms around his neck, and press my breasts against his chest. “Basher?”

“Yeah?”

“You know how you said last night wasn't a shower night?”

His eyes are very blue as he regards me through wet lashes. “Yeah?”

“Tonight is.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he says with his happy-shark-smile, and leans down to kiss me, water running over us both.

His mouth is hot, his tongue on mine jolting me out of my thoughts and into the physical world, and I feel the heat reaching all the way down my body, pooling in my groin as I press against him. His hands reach to my breasts, cupping them easily, and teasing them, not pinching but rolling my nipples between his long fingers until they're almost unbearably sensitive.

I return the gesture, running my hands over the thick muscles of his shoulders, his chest slippery and taut under my fingers as I gently trace my nails over his nipples, then down the hard, flat plains of his beautifully-defined abs. I could spend hours just tracing the rise and fall of the muscles under the pale, ruddy skin of his groin, but I want him too badly, and I can't wait.

Oh, yes, this man - I think it’s time to turn the tables a bit, he’s too lovely to be the one making all the moves, not in my precarious mental state. Smiling against his mouth, I pull his lower lip between my teeth, and run my fingers down to his thick cock, one hand cupping his balls, the other reaching to squeeze at the base of his cock. _Jesus, he’s well-made._ What a fucking confluence of genetics. He’s so thick, I can’t wrap my fingers all the way around, and I smile as he looks down at me. “You can’t stop me tonight,” I say sweetly, as I bend my knees and run my tongue down his neck, then his chest, flickering over his nipple as I travel down to his stomach. I glance up at his muffled gasp, and see his eyes close as he leans against the shower wall, his hands in my hair.

I guide his hips with one hand so the water runs over him and he blocks me from the spray; kneeling on the shower floor now, I grasp his shaft and let the water run along him, my fingers sliding down his length as I take the head of his cock in my mouth. I love his reaction - I watch eagerly as he sinks gently, his hands urging on my mouth as I take him as deeply as I can - in his case, my hands have to make up the difference, he’s simply too big. I let my tongue flicker across his skin, then alternating, sucking deeply, my hands making a rhythmic stroke down his length as he begins to thrust into my mouth. Oh god, I love feeling him acting without thought, his hips involuntarily moving to feel the hot wetness of my lips around him, but no - this isn't the end, not even a little bit.

I give one last squeeze to the base of his cock and let my tongue tease the sensitive skin where he’s been circumcised, and then rise to meet his lips, my mouth hungry for his. And he answers me in kind, he’s on fire and I can feel it, feel his desire against my skin as I rise on tiptoe. He wraps his large hands around my ass, and just as he did the first time, lifts me easily, my hands reaching to guide him inside me while my legs wrap around his waist and the weight of his body pins me against the tiles.

Oh God… He fills me so I can hardly move, my God, I reach my hands for his hair and he kisses me hard, thrusting against me with a need to possess, and it’s like that first night all over again… “Oh yeah, can you feel that?” he whispers huskily, “D’ya remember that night, do ya? I wanted you, I did, I wanted to crush you, possess you, yeah, I watched you and I wanted you…” his voice trails off, but Jesus Christ, I wanted him too, and the two nights crash in upon each other as I pull him down to me and our kiss is electric and I feel it all down my limbs as he thrusts so hard I know I'll have bruises.

“My God, Sebastian,” I say, strangled. “God, God…”

He picks me up again, and with one hand holds me against the wall while with his other hand he grabs my hair and pulls my head back, so that I’m staring straight into his eyes, my mouth parted in desire or dismay, I can't tell which. He looks down at my lips with narrowed eyes, and in a simple moment, bends down and takes my mouth in his so there’s no doubt who’s possessing whom, and when he thrusts into me again and my clit slides along the slippery skin of his groin, I know I’m going to come, and I look up to meet his eyes and see his deep satisfaction as he watches me cry out, again and again, and then he picks me up until my knees are over his shoulders, and his eyes are the deepest blue until he closes them with a guttural cry that sounds almost like pain and I feel his breath on my neck as he pulls me against him and I know that in that moment, I’m everything to him. And he’s everything to me. In that moment, however brief, nothing else exists.


	16. Chapter 16

I stand at the edge of the flagstone patio, a light breeze cooling my neck as I finish juicing the last of a half dozen limes for margaritas. Sebastian grills carne asada, and if a day - all disturbing conversations aside - could be any more perfect, then I can’t imagine it. I’m physically exhausted but in the particularly satisfying way that comes from doing things you love. After dinner I stretch out on the chaise lounge while Seb smokes and kicks up his feet on a chair. We sit in companionable silence as the sun sets and the sky turns dusky rose, then purple. I stretch and get up to light candles, tidying up our dinner plates. Sebastian moves to help me, and we work together easily, as if our bodies have known each other much longer than a few days. Seb smiles as I duck under his arms, and he deftly moves around me when my arms are full. We’re done in a few minutes, and Seb grabs us each a beer as we head back to the patio, now a vista of stars and candlelight.

“Basher?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me a story.”

He snorts. “A story? What kind of story?”

“Tell me about the beginning. You know.”

I hear him sigh; he’s not a man to revisit the past, but on the other hand he doesn’t want to refuse me, not after all that’s transpired today.

“The beginning, aye? I could just tell you about James, if you like.”

I turn to look at him. “No. I want to know about you.”

He pulls his pack of American Spirits off the table and offers me one. “Sentiment’s a dangerous habit of yours, you know,” he says quietly.

“So is smoking,” I say as I accept, “but we just keep doing it, don’t we?”

He laughs, and lights my cigarette.

After he lights his own, takes a long swallow of beer, and kicks his feet up again, he begins. “I never did like the company of others much, you know? I’d been shipped off to Eton as soon as the old man could be rid of me, and I’d had just about enough of living with people not of my choosing, aye? So my Da’ had a right fit, but I had my way in the end, and got a flat when I came to Oxford.”

_University of Oxford, Exeter College - 1990_

__

_Sebastian enters the lecture hall quietly, watchfully. He’s been told that James Moriarty has a sharp mind and even sharper tongue when interrupted in the midst of one of his theorems, and Seb needs to stay on his good side. Moriarty’s teaching his undergraduate theoretical mathematics class this term, and while Sebastian enjoys economics and business, he prefers his maths to stay firmly in the realm of the practical. That’s not to say he minds an equation or two - economics is full of models and theories - but at least they have a practical application, whereas theoretical mathematics strikes Seb as about as useful as tits on a bull, and about as likely to be proven. It’s the love of math for it’s own sake, and Seb doesn’t love anything that way - well, except for fighting. There is that._

_The slender, dark-haired man at the chalkboard is scribbling furiously, and Sebastian watches, fascinated, as whole realms of numbers and symbols come pouring out of his hands the way notes must have poured out of Bach’s onto the page, and suddenly Sebastian is struck by the passion of it, the passion of what he had always considered a cold, precise language until he watched James Moriarty in the throes of thought._

_As Moriarty comes to the end of his equation, a smile unfurls across his face, a Cheshire Cat kind of smile like he knows something the rest of the world doesn’t, and the smile stays in place when he looks up and takes in the lanky form of Sebastian, dressed in jeans and a motorcycle jacket, a day’s worth of ginger scruff on his chin. “Yes,” says Moriarty, and for just a moment Seb thinks it’s meant as an affirmation, before he realizes it’s actually a question to which he needs to reply._

_“Pardon the interruption, uh, Mr. Moriarty, sir -”_

_“James. It’s James. Please refrain from using the terms ‘mister’ or ‘sir’, they make me feel old. I’m already burdened by being more intelligent than my peers, I don’t appreciate the burden of additional years, as well.”_

_His voice is absolutely lovely, Sebastian thinks, in turns deep, melodic, and lilting. It reminds Sebastian of home, of green hills and deep woods, and he feels a sudden pang of homesickness for his native Ireland. “I beg your pardon, it’s just that I’ll be taking your undergraduate class, you see, and I’m not accustomed to calling my professors by their Christian names.”_

_James sighs dramatically, and the smile slips away, replaced by a frown of impatience. “Oh, that. Let me guess, you have no interest in taking it.”_

_Sebastian nods, hesitantly._

_“Well, I have no interest in teaching it, but that’s academia for you. We’ll just have to soldier through it together.”_

_And suddenly James gives Sebastian a smile so dazzling, so charming, that Sebastian actually finds himself taking a step toward the dark-haired man before he catches himself and covers by putting his hands in the pocket of his jacket. James tilts his head to the side, and after a moment’s consideration, crosses the space between them himself, until he’s just a smidge too close for comfort. He watches Sebastian struggle with himself over his personal space, and then, amused, relents by taking a step back. “And your name is?”_

_“Oh, I beg your pardon again, s-, James. I’m Sebastian, Sebastian Moran.”_

_Again James tilts his head, this time narrowing his eyes. “You’re Irish. But hmm… peerage, am I right?”_

_Sebastian just nods, feeling a bit like a moth under glass._

_James purses his full lips, and Sebastian finds himself staring as James licks them, seemingly unconsciously. “Ah! Lord Augustus Moran, 5th Duke of Abercorn. Your father, I presume?”_

_“Quite right,” Sebastian answers, feeling still behind the curve, “But how did -”_

_“But not the oldest son. Well, how lucky for you. Be a shame to waste that rebellious nature in the dusty halls of Baroncourt, aye?”_

_Sebastian just stares now, as James names the Moran ancestral estate in Northern Ireland, the Cheshire Cat smile returning to his handsome face. And he is handsome, Sebastian realizes, with a particularly Irish coloring of pale skin and dark hair, and as James looks up at him, Sebastian can see the gold flecks in his dark brown eyes._

_“Do you, ah, do you study peerages, then?” Sebastian asks, distracted._

_James shrugs, suddenly bored with this topic. “Peerages? No. I simply have an extraordinary memory, and one never knows which fact will come in handy, so I keep them all. Like today, for example. Knowing where you’re from, and your family, I already know quite a lot about you. You and your father, you don’t get on, aye? Well, most likely it’s that stubborn streak of yours. But, I’m guessing it’s given you a fine education in the fundamentals of country living. You’re probably quite the shot.”_

_Sebastian is stunned speechless, and he can feel a strange anger rising at this man, dissecting him as easily as a science experiment._

_“Oh, it’s always the second and third sons that take to the land to get out of the house. The way you move, I simply guessed it was hunting, not horses. And of course, Baroncourt is known for its game, is it not? Easy-peasy.” James shrugs, dismissive, and turns back to his equation._

_“Excuse me, sir, but I actually came here for a reason, not just to be impressed by your extraordinary mind.” Seb knows it’s foolish, but he can’t help needling the man, he’s too annoyed to stop himself._

_But to his surprise, James laughs, and dropping the chalk back on the ledge of the blackboard, dusts his hands off and turns back to Sebastian with his brows raised. “Oh ho! Temper, temper. I thought we’ve already discussed it, the class. Tell me, can you read this?” he gestures to the board._

_“No,” Sebastian admits, reluctantly._

_“Then your problem is obvious, as is the solution.” James gives him the dazzling smile again, and again, it works._

_Seb feels a tug of desire, the desire to move closer to this man, the desire for physical proximity. He tries to shake it off by being curt, but it falls flat. “What solution?”_

_James waits this time, waits until Sebastian shifts his weight, ever so subtly, towards him before speaking. “Let me ask you this: Do you think there’s any useful application in your future for the understanding of theoretical mathematics?” His dark eyes positively sparkle with mirth._

_Sebastian shakes his head, and before he can stop himself, takes a step towards the other man. “No.”_

_James licks his lips. “Then the obvious solution is to give your teacher a reason to make sure you pass.”_

“My God,” I laugh, “So he was like that even then? So brazen.”

“Oh, yes,” says Sebastian, “Bastard came out of the womb bold as brass, I’m sure of it.” He laughs ruefully. “Men like that aren’t made, Top. I learned a thing or two about leadership when I was in the army. Real leaders, the ones that earn loyalty to the end of the line, they're born, not made.” He shakes his head. “Or maybe hatched. C’mon Top, I’m knackered. Bed,” he says firmly, and stands.

I follow, realizing I can hardly keep my eyes open. In bed, Sebastian pulls me to him, protectively, and I find myself wondering if this is how he sleeps with James. _James._ No word from him at all tonight, and I feel an ache just below my sternum as I wonder where he is, what he’s doing.

Seb tucks his head next to mine and whispers sleepily, “He’s a vice, Top. Let it go. It’s best if you sleep it off…”

And feeling Sebastian’s strong arms around me, I take a deep breath, and do as he says.

I wake up alone. Even the dogs are gone. In the kitchen, I find the coffee already made, a half-pot remaining, and I pour myself a cup and pull out my phone. Nothing. _Goddamn him._ All of these weeks and months, seducing me, assuring me, enthralling me, and now it’s as if we’re not even close? Like we haven’t shared the most intimate moments, late-night thoughts, even our discussion about Sebastian is fresh in my mind. My God, that was only three days ago!

And with eerie timing, my text notification chimes.

_JM: Good morning, love. I can feel you fretting all the way across the Bay._

_AN: I just miss you. I can’t help it, James. You know how I am._

_JM: I know. Trust me when I tell you that everything has a reason, my dear._

_AN: I’m trying, I really am._

_JM: Sometimes short-term sacrifices are necessary for long-term gains. And it is a sacrifice to have you gone, whether you know that or not._

__

_Oh._ I can’t think up a response to that quickly enough, not on a few sips of coffee, and James texts before I can reply.

_JM: Have a lovely day, my dear. Just do what you do best._

And I’m left wondering what all - or any - of it means.

I’m still thinking about it a half-hour later, when Seb and the dogs come in, all three panting. “Good run?” I ask, as Seb wipes the sweat off his brow. As usual, he looks ridiculously sexy in a tank top and running shorts, the taut muscles of his thighs and calves distracting my gaze downwards. Flustered, I blink, and drag myself back to polite society.

He flashes me a huge grin. “The best! Gorgeous day. Fancy a shower?”

“You go on, I’ll make breakfast.” I shoo him away, but I can’t help but watch him walk down the hall. The man could pose for Michelangelo. It’s absurd.

Shaking my head, I throw together a veggie egg scramble and toast, and feed the dogs when they calm down. I’ve lost my appetite, though, my thoughts a mess.

_“Everything has a reason.”_

_“Just do what you do best.”_

_“Listen to me - there’s going to come a day very soon when he’s going to need you.”_

 

What does James want from me? Can I love Sebastian as James cannot - of course, it’s absurdly easy, but what about my heart? James, James is my heart, but he’s not here, and it’s seemingly up for grabs for the greater good, no matter how it hurts me to be apart from him. How can he encourage, ensure my absolute addiction to him, and then leave me to struggle to figure out what to do without him? And why did I ever think I’d be any different? I’m such a fool, so stupid, so ordinary…

**  
**I turn off the stove, and rush down to my closet before Seb can be done with his shower. Glancing around the cedar shelves, I’m struck by the luxury of it all, the ease with which I’ve adapted, as Seb pointed out, to this Faustian bargain. Oh what the fuck, I really can’t live in this space in my mind, it’s killing me, I miss James so much, and I grab my breeches and a sleeveless polo and hustle to the mudroom to pull on my boots and leave for the barn before Seb can see the sadness on my face.


	17. Chapter 17

Sebastian strides towards me with intent clear even from a distance; there will be no wide smile, no flirtatious glances - he’s pissed. Luckily we have no audience; I’ve brought Gladstone to the jump field to work out my own dilemma, and we canter around, soft and on course, Gladstone jumping easily as I count strides and keep my focus ahead of us. I see Seb but I don’t stop, we have a course to jump and that’s that. He stands at the fence, arms crossed, and watches us with narrowed eyes, but his gaze softens as we canter by him. Perhaps he appreciates our focus, or maybe it’s our connection, it’s hard to say.

After the last fence we slow to a trot and I post as we cool down in loops around the arena. As we pass by Seb, I call out, “Two minutes,Turkish” and he nods curtly, but I see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at my reference. “Be a love, open the gate for us,” I say on our way past the second time, and he shakes his head but does as I ask, and falls in beside me as we exit the field. “What is it?” I say, enjoying the vantage of for once being taller as he looks up at me, but when I see the icy grey of his eyes, my small amusement vanishes.

“What is it?” he repeats quietly as he holds my gaze, his jaw tight. “I might ask the same of you.”

“Of me? What does that mean?” I ask, defensive. I have to remind myself not to brace my arms, and to follow Gladstone’s head easily, gently.

“That means, one minute you’re making breakfast, you smile like you’re glad to see me, and I get out of the effing shower fat, dumb, and happy only to find you’ve scarpered, and not a clue as to why. Does that strike you as perfectly okay, Top, d'ya think that’s a fine manner?”

I want to argue with him, and God knows if it were James the first retort that came to my lips would be thrown down between us, but it’s Sebastian, and I just… can’t. My eyes drop to Gladstone’s mane, and I reach to stroke his neck as we amble along. “I’m sorry. I just - I was restless.”

“Restless?” Seb’s voice is incredulous. We walk in silence for several minutes, until he places a hand on my leg. Surprised, I rein in, and he looks up at me, searchingly. “Please don’t lie to me again, Anaïs, don't lie to spare my feelings. Trust is all we have.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you see that?” Frustrated, he turns away and walks on, leaving me staring, mouth open.

“Sebastian!” I call, but he just keeps walking. _Goddammit!_  No, Seb hurt is unacceptable - something I didn't know before this moment, but it hits me straight in the solar plexus, and I feel suddenly short of breath as I watch him walk away.

I ask Gladstone to get up, and, feeling my urgency, he lopes after Sebastian. I have the advantage so I press it by reining in across the path from Seb, effectively blocking his way. He crosses his arms and stares up at me, six-plus-feet of angry redhead, and my God, I adore him. Something else I didn't know with a visceral punch until now. What an interesting morning this is turning out to be, I think, but I’m only kidding myself when what I really want to do is howl. “Basher,” I say urgently, “I’m truly sorry, I’m an idiot, that’s the whole problem, I couldn’t bring that to you again - I’m sorry, please... Please, don’t be angry with me, I can’t today - I’m sorry.” I turn my face away, I’m going to start crying and I hate myself even more for being such a baby. That’s the sum of it all, isn't it? _Jesus Christ. I wish a hole would open up in the ground and swallow me whole._

I shake my head, willing myself not to cry, but all of a sudden all I want is to get away, and I have the means, so I use them, and Gladstone knows me so well he responds in an instant as I ask him to go, go anywhere, just GO. And he does, he does, and in just a few minutes it’s just us, just the two of us, and when I rein in at a glade of trees and put my head down to rest on his neck, he gives a long sigh for having to endure a crazy fucking talking-monkey as a leader.

As we walk back to the barn, my thoughts are an angry buzz of bees in my head. What is James planning, and why am I so in the dark? Does he not trust me? Is it me, because I’m getting confused and lost and getting attached to Sebastian? Isn’t that what he wanted? Or am I feeling guilty even though that’s what he asked me to do? Why would he choose me for anything, I can’t fucking sort my way out of a paper bag, never mind this mess. Does Seb know what James has in mind? Why, why can’t I just let all of this go and just ride my horses and look around my beautiful farm? Isn’t this what I wanted?

 _No._ I wanted this, and I wanted James, too. I never, never would have traded, never. _My beautiful Irishman…_ All I can see are his eyes, dark and glittering, as he watches me rock my hips against him...his lips as he leans down to kiss me, smiling at my depravity...

I suddenly realize that every time we've been separated, it was always my decision, and still it nearly killed me to be away from him. But now, knowing that James has chosen this, for some unknown reason where I’m just supposed to trust him…

And suddenly, I hear Seb’s voice in my head: _“Trust is all we have. Don’t you see that?”_

As I slide off Gladstone and walk him into the relative darkness of the barn aisleway, I see Sebastian, arms folded against his chest, leaning against the wall next my usual grooming spot. _Oh. The stubborn streak._ He catches my eye and suddenly we might as well be naked, our look is heated in every sense, and he’s not backing down, not this time. Flustered, I look away, and concentrate on untacking Gladstone and grooming him efficiently. I feel incredibly self-conscious, but when I risk a glance at Seb under my lashes, he’s staring up at the ceiling, perhaps counting the bricks in the arches or plotting my demise, who knows?

Finished, I untie my horse and carefully focus on a spot on Sebastian’s chest. “Walk with me?” I say, and turn before he answers. He catches up with me easily, and we walk in silence down the lane to Gladstone’s paddock. As my lovely horse trots off, I turn to close the gate and practically hit my nose against the spot I was staring at just a few minutes before. Swallowing, I look up and see that my sexy Ginger has in no way gotten over his temper. Not even close.

I open my mouth to speak, but no sounds come out, and as I watch, Seb’s eyes travel over my parted lips, his lips echoing mine in turn. Suddenly, faster than I can actually see, he grabs me, digging his hands into my hair, and presses his lips into mine, hard enough to bruise, furious and scared and possessive all at once. And just as my mouth opens to his, he tears himself away, and grabbing me by the shoulders, shakes me, hard, but just once. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, stop it!  Stop it, Top, you’re making yourself crazy, what do I have to do to get ya to stop bloody over-thinking this?” And just as suddenly he pulls me to him, and wraps his arms around me, cradling my head against his chest. “Don’t you see how well that suits him? As long as you’re always intrigued, always trying to figure it out, he can just throw you a new mystery. Jesus, Top, he knows everyone’s weakness.”

I’m silent, but I find myself wrapping my arms around his surprisingly small waist, my hands reaching up to the strong muscles of his back, and I press my forehead against his chest, blinking to keep from crying again. _Jesus_. Sebastian is my rock, and I lean in gratefully. When I’m silent, he says, “I’m not, you know, hot and metal.”

“What?” I giggle into his t-shirt despite myself.

“Hot and metal...pot and kettle…” he trails off.

I smack him on the ass, but half-heartedly. “What?”

“Judging you, Top,” he says, his breath soft against my hair. “I’m not pot and kettle.”

I grab him fiercely, my hands digging into his back, but I can’t speak.

Sebastian leans down now, cradling me against him, and speaks quietly, his mouth just above my ear. “D’ya think I don’t understand? D’ya think I’ve no idea what you’re just realizing? Oh, Top… Jesus, I’ve been there so many times, so many… You've no reason to be ashamed, lass. You think I’m somehow above ordinary, but you’re wrong. There’s two kinds of people in this world, the raw and the cooked, aye? I wasn't willing to be the latter. And neither are you.”

 

_Oxford, England - 1990_

_"Yeah, I fancy a pint would be a good start,” James says, amused at Sebastian’s suggestion. Seb feels like he’s somehow proposed the most boring answer one could possibly come up with in answer to James’ unstated query, but he’s out of his element, he’s never met anyone making such blatant power plays before. Oh, of course he’s seen the politicking and the courting in his father’s world - his father didn’t become Ambassador to Iran on merit, for fuck’s sake - but in his world, there's a thin veneer of respectability that simply isn't crossed. James, he sees instantly, James disregards such conventions as if the rules of society are not applicable to himself, as if they're made for mugs. And his smile as he looks up at Sebastian with his bright, glittering eyes asks Sebastian - which is he, really?_

_And once again, Seb feels that strange tug at his insides, just below his sternum - as if this man is literally magnetic, as if Seb is merely a collection of iron shavings waiting for some kind of order. And here is a man who can make the theoretical, the absolutely abstract - that with no form at all - flow through his hands like music. Oh, yes, Seb knows exactly which side he’s on, there’s no argument at all._

_The pub is smoky, loud, pedestrian to the extreme, but it might as well be the International Space Station for all James and Sebastian take notice of the simple people who surround them. They smile at each other again and again, recognizing the outlandishness of finally finding that person you thought would never exist - the one who admires you for your failings, the weaknesses you refuse to deny, and despises you for your supposed strengths. The one who tells you your darkest longings should come to light and says that the very things society rewards you for are the things you should dismiss as deadly dull - the person, in short, who confronts you with your mortality and asks you what you’d have written on your tombstone._

_Sebastian will never be Lord and he’s never been more thankful in his life - all of the thoughts he’s tried to push down, to subsume, all his thoughts about how inane it is, all the preening and ass-kissing - none of that matters to this man, to Moriarty, and Sebastian knows in some previously inaccessible place far down in his solar plexus that he’s finally, finally met his destiny, his order, his meaning. It makes some kind of sense now, even as he thinks that he has no idea what Moriarty wants from him. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, Sebastian will give it. And give it gratefully._

_Closing hour. They stumble from the pub, James catching Sebastian’s jacket as he trips over the curb, laughing.  Seb reaches an arm out, and they collapse upon each other, giggling and snorting, the height of gracelessness, and that makes them laugh even harder. Sebastian grabs James as he trips, and suddenly, James is in his arms, fluid, changeable, and Seb longs to pin him down, define him and make him solid so he, Seb, can figure out what all of this is really about. But James is made of mercury, he’s there and then suddenly he isn't, and Sebastian finds himself holding air, and he looks around, suddenly cold._

_The arms at his back take away all of his chill and give him something in return, a strange euphoria, and who knows how long that will last, so Sebastian finds himself saying, “My flat’s just a few blocks up, I’ve a bottle of Jameson, you know, for science…?”_

_And James laughs, reaching up to run his hands through Sebastian’s ginger hair, appreciatively. “Do you like cards?” he asks, and without waiting for an answer, turns and manages to stride down the lane with real swagger._

_And Sebastian follows, and there it is - some would call it destiny, but he’s chosen - oh, yes. He’s chosen sides, and he doesn't regret it, not even a little, as he quickens his step to walk by Moriarty's side._


	18. Chapter 18

“And then what happened?” I say, my head on Seb’s shoulder, as he trails off.

“Oh, Christ, that’s a tale for another day,” he says, and I swear I hear a faint crack in his voice, but when I look up, his strong features are steady, neutral, and I wonder if I imagined it.

“No,” I say, digging my head into his neck, “Tonight.” And I nibble on his neck and his earlobes until he laughingly agrees.

“Jesus, Top, you drive a hard bargain,” he laughs, and grabs my hair in his hands.

We’re sitting in the grass at the side of the lane, my body curled against his for comfort. We look at each other and somehow I get lost in the pale blue of his eyes, and we stare at each other longer than comfort allows, but surprisingly, it’s Sebastian who looks away first. “Anaïs…”

_Oh Christ, what now?_

Seb wraps his arms around his knees and looks down, but his voice is steady, firm, even as he pointedly doesn’t look at me. “James isn’t going to fix this. I’m telling you, you have to accept this. You have to. Anything else will make you crazy. I know how he works, he isn’t going to fix this because he wants you turn to me. So that fix is out. And you don’t have a fix, you’re in too deep and it’s too new. So that leaves mine.”

I draw my brows together as I look at him, trying to put the pieces together, but I’m missing something, what? All I can come up with is a question. “Sebastian…” I use his Christian name as he’s used mine. “What’s your weakness? The one that James uses?”

It’s a bold question, so intimate it takes my breath away, and Seb’s, too, if I’m hearing correctly. I can’t believe it came out of my mouth, but I stay still, letting Seb mull over his response. Besides, he’s the one throwing words around like “trust” and “partnership”. Even James shows his hand now and again.

Seb reaches in his inner pocket for his cigarettes, and offers me one. Sadly, I accept. Ever the gentleman, he lights mine before his own, and we sit smoking, giving Seb an extra moment of strategy. But his response surprises me. “Top, you’ve been observing me for two days now. Your training starts now. You tell me what my weakness is.”

God, he’s smart. He’s just used MY weakness - needing to know how everything works - to make me answer my own question. I laugh out loud, and smile at him appreciatively. “Nice.” I exhale, thinking over the last few days carefully, and then the hotel room flashes into my mind, along with James’ voice: _“You should have seen him when he came out of your room, he was horrified.”_

What bothered Seb about it? Was it the loss of control, or fucking his boss’ girl, or fucking his lover’s new lover? Or was there something else altogether? I look up at him, he’s staring off into the paddocks with the same blank expression he had the day I walked in to him in James’ bed, and I sigh. I hate us feeling like strangers, or worse, opponents. No, I can’t subscribe to that. Sebastian and I have to be allies or nothing, that’s the only way I can possibly structure this new chapter of my life. I fucking adore him, whether that’s James’ plan or just because Seb is Seb, it doesn’t matter - it’s worked.

I speak quietly, tapping ash out on the grass, “That night at the hotel - you heard me crying, didn’t you?”

Seb exhales slowly, and even blows a smoke ring before answering, “I did.”

“And?” I press, “What else?”

“And cursing James,” he says, quietly.

I stare at him, tapping my fingers on my knee. I stand abruptly, brushing off my backside and crushing my cigarette under my boot. Seb glances up, surprised, and I pull the cigarette from his fingers and give it the same treatment while I grab his hand and pull him to his feet. “C’mon.” I turn and set off down the lane.

Sebastian catches up with me easily. “Where are you going?” he asks.

I just shake my head, my stride determined. This isn’t the place to answer his question, it’s far too intimate, and he needs protection, even if he doesn’t know it.

At the house, I bound up the steps to the patio and inside the french doors, pausing to listen for Lupita, but she’s downstairs. “Bath,” I say curtly, but Sebs nods, understanding, and heads to the master bath to start the water running. I strip, asking myself if I can be honest, but hell - I have to be. This is my life, there’s no pretending about the company I keep and no turning back, and damned if I’m going to be found lacking -

I grab my short silk robe and water for us both, and meet Seb in the tub. He looks wary, even under the water. I slip into the water so that I’m resting against him, my back against his chest, my ass against his groin, my legs between his. He wraps his arms around me, one hand idly cupping my breast while the other rests over my navel. I take a deep breath, loving the feel of him, all of him. _Sebastian._

“Your weakness isn’t the damsel-in-distress, or slaying dragons,” I begin, keeping my voice carefully modulated. “It’s slightly more complicated than that. It’s your need to protect people, but which people? It can’t be just people you care about, because that night at the hotel you didn’t know me well enough to care about me. You might have experienced it vicariously through James caring about me, but then, James caring about me was a conflicting experience, so that’s out.”

I feel Seb’s arm tighten imperceptibly, and I lean into him, this time not for my comfort, but to weight him, ground him as I continue. “James told me that he doesn’t have enough feelings, and you have too many. You’ve become incredibly skilled at keeping your feelings damped down to the point of numbness nearly all the time, but it’s a lot of work. But you have to do it, because it isn’t just what enables you to do your job - I think you believe in what you do, I don’t think you need that - but because when someone causes you to feel, you have an irresistible need to protect them, regardless of the harm to yourself in doing so. You would do anything - ANYTHING - to keep the people who trigger you safe from harm.”

I can feel a coiled stillness in Seb’s body. This is why we’re naked after all, and in the bath at 11 in the morning - it isn’t easy to be laid bare. I reach a hand behind me and stroke his jaw, gently, as his arms tighten around me.

“It’s been relatively easy to manage, because with a few minor exceptions over the years that have been quickly nipped in the bud, the only person for whom you’ve had any deep feelings is James. And that’s nice for him, isn’t it? I bet he likes it like that, your undying - or dying, as it may be - loyalty.” I try to keep my voice neutral, but my anger at James seeps through. “Devotion, Loyalty. So what’s changed?”

I slide down, between Seb’s legs, and rest my head against his chest, kissing his nipples not to turn him on but to keep him grounded in the present moment. I place a hand on his stomach. “Easy, Tiger,” I say softly, “I’m almost done.”

He takes a breath, and nods, eyes closed. “Go on.”

“You prefer women. Oh, you love James, he’s your whole world, and he’s sexy in a way you can never deny. But he’s also the reason you can’t have anything or anyone of your own. It’s getting harder to keep your feelings in check all the time - they’re starting to seep out when you least expect it. You’re distracted, and maybe you’re work is suffering. And then what happens? This woman shows up in James’ life. Is she another distraction? No. That’s weird. And then, to punish you for having feelings, you have to follow her, protect her, walk through her apartment, rifle through her most intimate things, but you can never show yourself. It’s like being a ghost, you can smell her and feel her but never touch her, until the night James has you assigned to follow her to her hotel.” I shake my head as I unravel it. “Jesus. He’s such a bastard. But so fucking smart.”

I swivel under the water and come up with my chest against his, wet hair dripping onto his chest as I look into his eyes. “Do you see? I’m getting lost, and you’re getting lost, so what does he do? Throw us together, and so completely freak both of us out that no longer than the very next day, we’re back in our appointed roles, back where we’re supposed to be - me, at his side, and you, busily stuffing your feelings back down, particularly when it comes to women - after all, you just sent me into near-hysteria, you won't be doing that again anytime soon! Easy-peasy. Jesus.”

There’s a long pause, where Sebastian reaches up his hands to stroke my hair, and I kiss his beautifully muscled chest idly, and we both take deep breaths and let words sink in.

“Anyway,” I say faintly, “ I could go on, but that’s your weakness.”

We lay in the tub, wrapped in a horizontal hug with my head upon his chest, until the water grows cold.

Sebastian reaches for me, insistent, as we dry off. His arms are immobile against me, and his mouth is hard, asking me if I’m worth the pain I’ve caused him at the same time he tells me to submit to him, and I find myself bending backwards, literally, under the onslaught of his body and his will, sharpened by being laid bare. I reach a hand up to his hair, and suddenly he’s picked me up as if I weigh nothing, and he carries me to the bed easily. This time he sets me down with deliberation, and keeps me in thrall by staring at me without blinking, his eyes very blue as he spreads my knees.

Grabbing my wrists in each hand, he pins my arms above my head, and dips his head just enough to trace my lips with his tongue. Shifting his weight, he pulls my arms together above my head so he can hold them with one of his large hands, hands with beautiful long fingers, hands large enough to remind me of paws, and I think again that “Tiger” suits him all over again. I smile wickedly. “How many times is it now, that you’ve held my wrists?” I say, and his jaw tightens as he stares at me, and this is the Seb beneath the surface, the hunter, the savage, and I see all of this reflected in his eyes, and I welcome it, I give myself as tribute with no thought to safety.

Do as thou wilt, I think, and it’s my form of benediction as I arch my hips to meet his, and looking down at me, I see he recognizes it and he takes me as tribute as easily and as arrogantly as Ceasar took Rome, I’m his possession and no amount of words will deny his place in the larger scheme of things. I might be the woman who shook his world, but he’s still Sebastian Moran, second only to James Moriarty as the most dangerous man I've ever known, and I’d do well not to forget it.


	19. Chapter 19

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Seb’s voice is sleepy with satisfaction, having shown both of us quite thoroughly who held the upper hand in this round.

“Tell me what happened next.” I say, sweetly, softly, but with serious intent. The noon sun lights the room without shadows, and I can see every wrinkle across Seb’s forehead, every line at the corner of his eyes, every precious flaw.

Sebastian sighs deeply. “Jesus, Top.”

“Tell me,” I press.

Sebastian sits up now, all of the sleep gone. “I’ve never spoken a word of this my whole life, and suddenly I’ll just be telling you from now ‘till Tuesday, aye, is that right?”

I sit up, pulling the sheet over my breasts, and shoulder-to-shoulder, look Sebastian in the eyes. “‘Tis.”

A smile tugs at his lips, but no, he manages to keep a straight face. “Is that so?” he says, his eyes an icy grey-blue, no mercy.

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you trust me? Or not?”

He looks away, grimacing, his accent pronounced. “Jaysus…”

_Oxford, England  - 1990_

_Sebastian had no more poured them each a neat tumbler of whisky than James put up a hand in protest. “I’d like to remember this night, this is my last of the evening.” And Seb found himself nodding in agreement, although he outweighed James by at least four stone, and could easily, he guesses, outdrink him._

_James takes the glass from Sebastian and pads through the flat, observing. Minimally furnished, it fairly screams “Bachelor” from the takeout boxes stuffed in the rubbish bin to the practical pyramid of toilet tissue stacked on the back of the loo._

_“Good God,” James sniffs, “You could really use a hand.”_

_Sebastian laughs. “I could really use a flatmate, to be honest, I’m meant to have one, I just haven’t...found…” He trails off as James meets his eyes, and suddenly Sebastian feels swept under, like he’s lost his footing, and he realizes, belatedly, that four stone is not going to save him this time around._

_James lips twitch with amusement as he watches Sebastian process that little piece of information, and he sips the amber liquid in his glass slowly, drawing out the warmth as it slips down his throat. Crossing the hardwood floor to stand just in front of Sebastian, James delights, again, in crossing boundaries, invading Sebastian’s personal space. What will he do about it? James watches as Seb struggles with his reaction, but he’s actually, literally, shocked when Sebastian finally decides by grabbing James’ glass and setting it on a side table with his own. James raises his remarkably defined eyebrows and Seb grins. Apparently when he’s made up his mind, it’s a done deal, aye? And James knows, suddenly, what will happen next, and smiles. It’s exactly what he had planned, oh yes, once again he’s read it all correctly and James loves little more than being right._

_But Sebastian thinks the grin is for him - and he’s not entirely wrong, really - and he squares his shoulders so James can appreciate how much taller, stronger, Sebastian is in comparison, and then James shrugs, smiling as if it doesn’t matter in the larger scheme of things and suddenly Seb grabs James by the shoulders with no warning and James laughs, that’s exactly what he does, he laughs, because Sebastian’s reaction is damn near perfect and who knew he’d be so fucking perfect?_

_Sebastian grabs James by the shoulders and when James laughs he has the insane desire to crush him but what he does is pull him to his own chest, and James is smiling up at him and Sebastian feels the strange, strong need to mark him, to make him recognize Sebastian as himself, and before he even knows what he’s doing he bends down and presses his lips against James’ mouth, wanting to hurt him, please him, whatever it takes for James to acknowledge Seb. And James is mercury, again, so present he fills Seb’s mouth with milk and honey and blood and then so absent Seb finds himself searching with tongue and teeth and lips for this mercurial man who’s both beneath his hands and just out of reach._

_James reaches up and unbuttons Sebastian’s shirt, slowly, smiling as he sees Seb’s defined chest, his nipples already hard, and then as he reveals the beautifully defined abs that Sebastian works on each day. James raises his brows. “You're beautiful, Sebastian, has anyone told you that before?” And Seb just shakes his head, afraid to speak for fear his voice will betray him, but suddenly his need for James is so strong, so urgent, he can feel it pooling in his groin like fire and he fights the urge to grab James with his large hands and crush him up against himself._

_But James misses nothing, that’s how he’s made, and seeing Seb’s reaction, he smirks and plays his fingers under Seb’s waistband, his fingers trailing across the sweet line of hair that runs from Seb’s navel down, a light ginger trail that James follows, unbuttoning Seb’s trousers as his fingers run across the incredibly sensitive skin of Seb’s groin._

_James grins up at him them, eyebrows raised, and Seb clenches his fists, nails digging into palms, to keep himself from grabbing James and taking him by force. But James sinks to his knees, and suddenly Seb stumbles, his own knees weak, as he feels James run his tongue down his skin, and - Jesus Christ - Seb scrabbles to find something to steady himself as James takes Seb’s thick erection between his lips and sucks hard enough to make Seb want to thrust into James’ full lips hard enough to choke him, but no, no, he needs - fuck, what should he do?_

_And falling almost backwards Seb finds himself on the couch with his trousers bunched between his ankles and James - so fucking sexy, his black hair gleaming, absurdly still perfectly in place -  kneeling between his legs with Seb’s cock deeply down his throat, and Seb thinks he could come in an instant but that wouldn’t be enough, would it?_

_So he digs his fingers into James’ shoulders and, shaking off the seduction of James’ lips, literally lifts James off of himself and curls his large hands around James’ waist and pulls him onto his lap, and James comes alive then, a smile stretching across his beautiful face as he sees Seb’s reaction. James locks his arms around Seb’s neck and kisses him so deeply Seb wonders if he’s imagined this night, and then James is pulling off his shirt, stretching his fine pale skin as he raises his arms, his nipples against Seb’s lips. Seb finds himself biting them hungrily, pulling James to him, his fingers digging into James’s back as he presses James’ skin to his lips, and he can feel James’ erection against his own, and it’s all he can do not to use his strength against James, to pull him down and harm him, mark him, and fuck him until he begs for release…_

_But James has other ideas, or maybe exactly the same ideas, as he stretches up and gets to his feet, padding quietly into the bedroom before returning with a slim tube and a smirk. “Nightstand drawer, boys are so predictable,” he chuckles softly, sinking back down to Sebastian’s lap. As Seb reaches his long, lanky arms around James’ hips, James grins and reaches down to catch Seb’s wrists in his own, moving them until Seb’s long fingers are at the zipper of James’ trousers, and James looks him in the eye with no shame as Seb finds his fingers shaking as he unzips James’ trousers and runs his hands along the thick erection under the cotton boxers, then, shocking even himself, he pulls down the fabric to run his fingers along skin, hot, stretched skin, skin just like his own, parched, dying for release, and he sighs, closing his eyes for an instant - he didn't know, did he, just how much he needed this?_

_James takes hold of him then, literally, Sebastian’s prick between his hands, and bending, sucks him once again, but just to run his tongue and saliva over Seb’s shaft, and then Seb feels the cold slippery sensation of lube as James strokes him, and Seb thinks he might lose it, right then and there, and he grits his teeth. James raises himself up on his knees, one hand guiding Sebastian and Seb feels his cock between James’ arse cheeks and he looks up with alarm - is he really going to do this? - but when James catches him with a single, shameless glance, Sebastian knows all of his prior teachings about right and wrong were all bullocks, all utter nonsense, and as he feels the sudden, shocking tightness of James’ arse he takes a sharp breath and lets it out as he lets go of all the preconceived notions he had of who he was and what he really wanted…_

_James slowly, sweetly, sinks down on Seb’s thick cock, breathing deeply, relaxing to let Sebastian enter him, and it’s no small feat - Sebastian’s cock is large like his hands, thick, and just for a minute, Seb thinks he sees James feeling vulnerable, but no, he’s imagined it, James is in control as he'll soon learn James always is, but James loves this, loves feeling Sebastian’s shock and surprise at how insanely good it is, how insanely tight it is, and Sebastian closes his eyes, hands on James’ slim hips, and lets himself thrust, hard, against James, and oh - god - there it is, the center of everything, Jesus --_

_It’s so simple, isn't it? The tight slickness, the full lips claiming his, the slim pale hips moving against his, the dark eyes watching as he succumbs to sensation..._

_And when James cries out, his cock spurting onto Sebastian’s stomach as Seb thrusts again, unable to hold himself back any longer in the slick tightness, Sebastian groans as if he’s been hurt, and maybe his has, but his thick, deep orgasm as he surges into James, his cum spurting strongly inside him, erases any memory and leaves Seb shuddering, pulling this enigmatic man into his arms, now and always, James’ cum sticky against his chest, and Sebastian finds he loves that, loves the reality just as much as the idea._

_Seb cradles the dark-haired Irishman against his chest, and just like that, he’s done. It really was that simple, after all. He belongs._

_He belongs to James Moriarty._

_And he has no regrets._

I find tears running down my cheeks in the silence, not for any other reason than I understand - I understand! - he’s everything, everything in any moment he wants to be, and goddamn him, how can he just leave Seb and I to grapple in his absence?

But Seb’s reaction is exactly the opposite of mine. He pulls me to his chest, wiping the tears off with his long fingers. “Top,” he says sternly. “Don’t be an idiot. This isn’t The Notebook, for fuck’s sake.”

And I almost choke with laughter, Seb’s a right bastard just as much as James is, and I love him for it, for pulling me back to the present moment.

“Oh Seb -” I say, giggling, “I feel like we should pay homage.”

“What?” He grins, not sure where I’m going with this.

“One should never live in the past, eh? But we can acknowledge it, and pay our respects.” And I straddle him, pressing him down onto the bed firmly, and use my fingers to trace the hot skin of his cock as he hardens under my hands.

“That was incredibly sexy, you know,” I say, glancing up at him. He’s leaning back against the pillows now, eyes closed, arms flung carelessly to the side, freckles like a trail of stars up his strong biceps.

“I’m not much of a storyteller,” he says with an indrawn breath as he feels my tongue retracing where my fingers were just moments before, and I see his hands clench involuntarily as my lips close around him.

“No, no, I think it’s just an underutilized talent,” I say a few minutes later as I sit up, my knees on either side of Seb’s hips.

“What is…?” he asks, opening his eyes as his hands move to my waist.

“You. Telling me stories. I quite like it.”

And Seb can’t argue, not right then, not when he feels me sliding down on him, slippery with the simple evidence that my words are true.

**  
**If James were here, he’d be laughing.


	20. Chapter 20

“Basher?”

“Mmm?”

I open my eyes to see Sebastian, eyes narrowed in concentration, tongue between his teeth, very delicately applying polish to my toenails. He frowns, and places the polish brush back in the bottle as he looks at me. “Harder than it looks,” he mutters, and then, “What are you on about?”

I giggle. “Nothing yet. But I was about to ask - Does it make you wonder about free will?”

Basher’s lips twitch, but he doesn't smile. Instead, he pulls my foot to his chest, and holds it between his hands. “Be still.”

I acquiesce graciously. Between the sex and the foot bath and the massage, I'm hard-pressed to be overly concerned about anything; I'm pliable, let’s be honest. So I just relax into it as he changes my toes from dark purple to metallic copper - the better, he says, to show off my tan, the tan I've gotten from laying out in the late afternoons. We're spoiled and lazy and happy, and I can't complain, not at all. But that never stops my questions.

“No, I'm serious.”

Sebastian smiles now, but to himself, as he switches feet. “Nah. I believe in probabilities, yeah. And with James planning things, your probability index goes way up, aye?” He glances at me over my feet, and his smile takes in the curve of my hips, my small breasts, the set of my chin, before landing on my lips, and he continues, amused. “No one could predict that I'd like the feel of you under my hands, or in my arms -” he runs a free hand down my calf, and I shiver “- or the way you smell... Those are all too personal. Personal choice. It still exists, love.”

I sigh with pleasure, and we're quiet for some minutes as he finishes up his task of polishing. Both of my feet dry leaning up against the headboard as I lean back against pillows, and Sebastian rests on his side, ever the tiger as he looks me over, calculating, but his fierce strength is reassuring, and I close my eyes.

“You really have such a knack for making me feel better, you know that?” I can almost hear him smiling.  I wrap my arms around him, and move to rest my head against his chest, and he shifts to accommodate me. We lie in the quiet, watching the dust motes in the sunbeams, skin-to-skin and very content. Finally, Seb turns to rest his head on his arm and looks at me.

“What is it, Top?” he drawls.

“What is what?”

“We've been quiet for at least ten minutes, I feel a question coming on.”

I can't help but giggle. “Maybe I was going to surprise you with an additional five minutes of quiet. You don't know, do you?”

Now it’s Seb’s turn to grin. “Top, in my line of work the very first skill you’ve got to master is to be observant. Notice patterns of behavior. The rhythms of your target’s life. All of the skills you’re trained to become a part of you over the years.” He rumples my hair affectionately before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. “I'm a very observant man, and I know ya weren’t. Go on then, ask away.”

Careful not to smudge the polish, I lie on my back as well, my hand on Sebastian’s thigh. “Well…” my voice trails off as I try to figure out a way to ask.

Seb makes a small, strangled sound before resting his arm over his eyes, self-protectively. “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s gonna be one of those questions, aye? Well, c'mon, out with it.”

“I was just wondering what James meant when he said that you must be a good kisser, but he wouldn’t know. Why would he say that?”

“Because we don’t kiss, is that not the obvious answer?”

“Yes, but it makes no sense.” I persist. “Why do you not kiss?”

Sebastian sighs deeply. “It’s… I don't even know myself, really. When you've been with someone as long as I've been with James, things just… You fall into habits. Ways of being. I don’t know, Top. I couldn't say.”

“But you did kiss, back in the beginning.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Back then, I couldn't get enough of him. He changed my world. All of a sudden I could do anything, I could do whatever I wanted. He showed me that. And I wanted to do all the things I hadn't done yet. It grew and grew, this desire to do it all. Went on a bit of a rampage, I did. Bit of a mad tear, and he found it funny, you know, watching me drink and snort and fuck anything and everything that came my way. Well, only girls. James was the only - I wasn't - he was different, you see?”

“I bet he loved that.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah he did and I stupidly thought it was the same for him.” I can hear the bitterness in Seb’s voice, but I don’t press. He takes a deep breath and goes on. “A lot of things happened over the next few terms, stories for another day. He was well on his way to building his empire and I was a reckless son-of-a-bitch. He used that well. We went all over the world on our school breaks, Asia, India…”

My eyes flick to his shoulder, the three white, smooth scars. “Is that where you killed the tiger?”

“Yes.” His voice is curt. “Don't ask me about that now. This is enough.”

I reach for his hand. “Okay.”

Sebastian is quiet for a minute as he regroups, and when he continues his voice is flat. “So, yeah, there we were, a partnership of danger and ambition. And then one day in me third year I came over to his flat to surprise him, I had a key of course, but the surprise was on me, aye? There he was: Buck naked, arse in the air, with another fine strapping lad ploughing the field, as it were. Well, you know, that would have been enough right there, but that wasn't the worst of it. When he saw me, Top, he didn't even have the decency to be ashamed. He laughed at my expression. He laughed.”

I wince, but with supreme effort say none of the epithets that spring to mind. _Oh, James.  All your little games…_

Seb moves his arm now, and turns so he can look at me. He nods at my expression. “I left university the next day. I used my family connections to enlist as an officer, and I was sent, after training, to Afghanistan. It was ten years before I saw him again, and I've not kissed the lips of James Moriarty since the day before I walked into his flat. That’s a place I can't be revisiting.”

“You said you’ve never had cause to regret your allegiance to James. Not even then?”

We're sitting on the patio, drinking beer. Sebastian takes a long drag on his cigarette and nods thoughtfully. “At the time, I thought so. But now that I'm older and I can see the big picture, no. The army made me who I am. And if not for that day two decades ago, I would never have left his side. I'm my own man. I've led men, just as he has. We're equals now in a way we'd never have been if not for all that.”

There’s something I just don't understand, but I hesitate. Seeing my look, Sebastian says, “Yeah? Go on, then.”

“I’m really sorry, I just - so do you mean to tell me you fuck but you don’t kiss? I mean, when I walked in the other day - it seemed like - I mean, you'd just - didn’t you?”

Seb laughs at my confusion. “You just can’t get over this, can ye? I told you, he’s a vice. And yeah, like I was saying, you fall into a habit, aye? I never expected us to - to be in that way again. But -” he shrugs and looks out over the farm, “ - you know how he is. It’s darker now, all of it - the decade we were apart made us both darker men, you know. And it shows. The passion I have for him now, it’s never without pain. I suppose we've grown to like that. Maybe he always liked that. I don’t know.”

I take a long swallow of my beer, finishing it. “Basher…”

“Yeah?”

“How could you forgive him?”

Sebastian smiles at me now, a smile completely devoid of humor. “What makes you think I have?”

I'm flummoxed, and I have no response.

“Nothing’s that simple, Top. You want your world to be so black and white, but it isn't, and it never will be.“

He’s right, of course. I always want everything to make sense, to have some throughline, but random things happen, don't they, and people make inexplicable decisions, and the heart wants what the heart wants. I of all people should know that, right? Look at where I sit, and with whom.

I turn and look at him now. _Apollyon._ He’s beautiful, such strong bones and intelligent eyes. He looks back at me, waiting. I think he knows what I'm going to ask next.

“How many confirmed kills have you made?”

“72,” he answers, simply. His eyes never leave my face.

“But that’s just confirmed, right?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the unofficial number?”

“Twice that, maybe more. I did four tours as part of a sniper team, before I was promoted. And you know my life now.”

“Why are you answering all my questions?”

Sebastian stands now, and stretches, the flat planes of his stomach showing as his t-shirt rides up from his running shorts. I try not to stare, and fail. He laughs as he sees my glance, and kisses the top of my head.

“Trust is all we have, love. And there’s only one way to get it.”

He turns and walks into the kitchen with our empty bottles, and I just stare out over the paddocks, at the farm I love, and I hear James’ voice in my head: _“We all have to choose what we can live with, my dear.”_

Seb returns with two more bottles, but he doesn’t sit. “Let’s take a walk,” he says, and I nod and we make our way back through the house and let the dogs out. It’s another gorgeous fall day, not a cloud in the sky, and all of the farm seems to hum with warmth and life. We stroll down the lane through the dappled shade, sipping our beers as we go.

“Remember when I told you the first night that some lines, once you cross them, cease to exist?” he asks.

I nod. “Of course I do.”

“It’s like getting a tattoo. The decision to get that first one is tough, because you know you’ll be forever changed. Once you've crossed the line, you can get one or one hundred tattoos, aye? Either way, you're inked. And after the first, you no longer have anxiety about it. You've already decided who you are. That’s how it is. The only thing that was difficult about my first was wondering if I could protect my boys, you know, they were all relying on me. But I saw the absolute necessity of the kill. That target had to go or my boys would be killed. It was as simple as that. There were no moral qualms for me. I was lucky that way.”

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there was something incredibly sexy about this conversation, on probably the most base and elemental of levels, to be sure, but then that’s where sex lives, down in the depths of our animal natures and the dark thoughts we tend to let lie. I look up at Sebastian, his easy, athletic grace and intense masculinity, and I find myself wanting to trust him, rely on him as he’s said. But it’s too soon and it’s been too short a time since seeing James, and I can’t.

“And what about with James?” I ask, finally.

Sebastian stops now, and turns to look at me. His eyes are grey and intense as he meets mine. “I need you to understand something, Anaïs. I've never made a kill I couldn’t stand behind. That’s how I sleep at night.”

I nod. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you want to know.”

“Why else?”

Sebastian smiles, appreciatively. “Well done. You're becoming more observant all the time, aye?” He takes a sip of beer before answering. “Because I need you to understand.”

“Why?”

There’s the teensiest moment of hesitation before he replies. “Haven't you figured it out, Top? The fix? What James has been planning all along?”

I stare at him, aghast.

He nods at my dawning comprehension. “Snipers work in pairs, love. We’re a team now.”


	21. Chapter 21

Finally I find my voice, “You've lost your fucking mind.”

I’m across the lane, as far away as we can be with my back to the fence, even I didn’t know I could move that fast. “NO, fuck no, fuck NO, are you insane?”

Seb puts his hands up, seemingly unfazed by my reaction, and slowly moves towards me. “Easy, Top…” He draws out the syllables slowly, voice pitched low.

“Sebastian, did you hear me? NO. No, absolutely not.” I’m shaking my head and now I realize my hands are shaking as well. I can see by his face, he’s dead serious - _oh, fantastic, great pun, lovely._

“Top, come here.” He reaches for me with his long arms and I watch the freckles unfold across his biceps and I back up hastily until the fence boards press across my spine.

“No. No more fucking gorgeous, charming, totally immoral men convincing me to do ANYTHING, I can't fucking take it. I can't, Sebastian, I'm not kidding,” I say, staring at him in disbelief. _What a fucking HUGE mistake it was lending James Moriarty my racing program, Jesus, what a disaster! You’re such an idiot, Anaïs, look at this mess, seriously, what the fuck?_ I swallow and look down at the ground, grasping for my composure.

Seb’s voice, very calm, very measured, reaches me in my haze. “Can we just set some ground rules here? I would never MAKE you do something, Top. You have to trust me. You have to trust that I know what you can do.”

“Well, you're fucking wrong! That’s not who I am, that’s not who I am at all” I sputter, disgusted.

“Not yet,” he says quietly, “but I'm a very good judge of character, love, and I'd not be picking someone as a partner solely on recommendation. Not for my work.” He stares at me now, searching. “My work is who I am, Anaïs, can ye not see that?”

I stare back, his grey eyes captivating me in their intensity. Abruptly I realize my shaking is gone. “You don't know me, how would you know what I'm capable of or not? In less than a week? Fuck you, Sebastian.” I whirl away but Seb grabs my wrist, then slides his hand down to mine, gently.

It’s weirdly comforting, just like resting my head on his shoulder, even though he’s probably a just psychopath like James and I’m in some inverted reality where people like myself who don’t readily manipulate the world to their liking are in the minority. _Okay, Anaïs, get a grip, you're verging on hysteria again and that will never do, not at all. Think, THINK._  “Okay. Okay, Sebastian, now you explain this to me so it makes sense.” I turn to look at him, brows raised. “And do a fucking stellar job of it, do you hear me? Or I’m done.”

Sebastian smiles down at me with favor, like I'm a favored student. “Top…” he kisses my hand, pleased, “I said I would train you, I never said I would make you. I will never make you do something you don't want to do, I promise you that.”

Suddenly I'm furious again, and I raise my chin. “Like you could. Do you really think you could? I’m not a woman to be forced, not anymore.”

But Seb just smiles wisely. “Exactly.”

“Then why did you hesitate?” I step forward, until my chin is just inches from his chest. “If you thought this was such a great plan, why did you flinch?”

Seb blinks just once, his lovely, long copper eyelashes brushing his cheek as he looks down, gathering his thoughts. When he looks up, his eyes are the palest blue, and sad. “Because I knew you'd turn away, love,” he answers softly, “and I was enjoying us, just - just enjoying the moment. And I knew - as soon as I opened my mouth - that was pretty much out the window, aye?”

My eyes trace the silhouette of his cheekbones and the set of his lips and I know he’s being honest. _Can I really tell? Yes. On this, I am sure._

_Sebastian._

I hear myself say his name, my voice breaking, that note of disbelief, and I shake my head, painful sharp needles of tears behind my lids, but no, no - _I will not cry,_ Jesus no.

Faster than I can speak he’s holding my face in his hands, kissing my eyelids, down the bridge of my nose. “No, love, no don't weep,” he murmurs, but at the sweet urgency of his voice I feel just one tear leak out and I pull away and shake my head. _No. Unacceptable._

“I can't cry anymore, Basher. I don't know if I'll stop if I begin, do you understand?”

Sebastian stands tall now, and with his hands on my back presses my head to his chest. “I understand perfectly, absolutely perfectly.”

I let his large hands cradle my head against his chest, my hands beneath his shirt against his sweet, pale skin, and I take a deep breath. _Jesus._

“Basher - ” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I'm so afraid.” My voice is barely audible. “I don't know who to trust anymore. And I'm scared of this. I don't know, what if you’re right? What if I am - am - what if I can?”

“We made an oath, Top. I’m right here, I swear to you. I swear to you. I swear to your God, you’re not alone. We’re a team, Top. James doesn’t know just what he’s created, I don’t think he thought this out to its end, I don’t…” His voice trails off as he feels me wrap my arms around his waist.

I take a deep breath and gather myself together. There’s only one thing to be done.  “Jesus fucking Christ, Sebastian Moran. You better be telling me the fucking truth or I swear to god, I will…”

“You'll what?” he asks, amused.

“I - I’ll... I'll skin you.” My voice carries my intent, I can feel it almost wrap around Sebastian like smoke.

At this, Seb stiffens, then laughs. “He’s taught you well, love.”

_Has he? Is this who I am? The two people who matter most to me in all the world seem to think so, and really, who am I  to argue? They are my everything, it’s that simple. And I can't have that on my ledger without something in the balance._

“I mean it, Sebastian. You motherfuckers are teaching me to be ruthless. I've always been good at tests. Just so you know.”

Seb places his long fingers on my jaw and tilts my head back until I meet his eyes. “I don't doubt it in the least, Top. Not a bit.”

His eyes are icy-blue as we look at one another and I'm caught, again, in his gaze, but this time I feel something else taking root, running through my veins - resolve - and this time it’s me who catches my hands in his hair and pulls his lips to mine, this time I take him for my tribute, not the other way around and I feel him give in, let himself be taken, and I realize this is what I wanted - this is what I really wanted all along…

“So, Sensai, where do we start?” I'm shamelessly sprawled across Sebastian’s pale, ruddy skin, now damp with sweat as he leans back on the chaise longue of the deck. The slightest feather of ginger curls trace a path down his chest, and my fingers follow as I stretch against his body and let my mouth run along the thick muscles of his shoulders. _Jesus, he’s so fucking over-the-top. It’s ridiculous._

He smiles, but doesn't open his eyes as he feels my fingers trace a path down his navel. “Jesus, Top, give a man a chance, for the love of all that’s holy.” Quick as a cat he grabs my wrist. “Cease and desist, woman.”

Equally quickly, I break his grasp - he’s at a disadvantage, at his angle - and place my hand across his mouth. I lean down, letting my tongue run along his jaw, and whisper in his ear, “Oh, I don't think so. You chose this, this method of action, you chose it my dear, and I'm in with you now, all in -”

He grabs my shoulders and flips me so fast all I can do is laugh, and he presses his weight against me to keep me still, but I feel it coming and I counter-balance and suddenly we're tumbling onto the flagstone patio and thank fucking god it’s Seb who lands on the bottom but I get my share of scrapes, too, and suddenly we're both laughing, laughing so hard we can't do anything but lie there like idiots, bruises already beginning.

“You're fucking dumb,” I laugh at him.

“You’re China,” he says, quoting the show ‘Scrubs’, and we double up with laughter.

“You idiot,” I say and he just grins.

“So you're all in, aye?” he says, suddenly serious, leaning up on an elbow and looking into my eyes intently.

_Are you? Are you really, Anaïs? Because this man deserves your honesty, your heart. Tell him._

I reach up and trace his thick ginger brows with my thumb.

“Basher --” Our look could set buildings on fire. My voice cracks. “All in. I’m with you to the end of the line.”

His face is suddenly still, and he closes his eyes for just a second, like he’s absorbing this moment, and then - his eyes meet mine, both of us searching, both vulnerable, and he reaches his hand to trace my lips. “To the end of the line.”

I nod. We stare at each other for a long, silent moment, the enormity of what we've just done, just said only beginning to trickle down into our everyday lives.  

“Sensei -”

“Yes?”

“Let’s begin.”

“Very well.” He sits up, grinning. I have a feeling I’m not going to like what he says next. “You need discipline, love. I’m so sorry that I’m going to have to be the one to administer it.”

“You fucker.”

“Oh, I’ll go easy on you at first. You sure you’re ready to begin?”

I shake my head. “It isn't going away, might as well start in on it.”

Sebastian stands up, naked, all glorious masculinity and purpose, and stretches, then turns to me. “Fetch your trainers. Top. We’re due to do a runner, aye?”

And he laughs at my horrified expression.

“Oh, Top, did you think I’d make it easy, just because you gave in? Nah, that’s unworthy of you. I’d not like you to ever think I bent the rules for you. You should earn it, just as I did.”

I stand, as naked as Sebastian, and feel his eyes on my body as I stretch just as sweetly,and I feel Seb’s eyes run across my breasts, my navel, my hips...

“Oh? Hmm.” I let my eyebrows raise and then look to Sebastian. “You should do as you think best, Sensei. But to every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction, you know, just simple physics. Just a thought.”

Seb throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, Christ. Can ye not just go out for a simple jog?”

I smile as I look up at him. “I wanted my life to be that black and white but someone told me it just wasn't meant to be.”

Sebastian looks at me with affection. “You’re a bitch, d’ya deny it? Grab your trainers, and none of your lip.”

I smile back, but I do what he says. He’s the boss, and I know it.

He’s my partner now, and I’m his. That’s as black and white as it gets. And I’m thankful - no, greatful -  that something’s stated and real and absolute.

Until the end of the line.

So be it.


	22. Chapter 22

Jesus, do I hate running, even at a slow pace. Seb glances at me and seeing the sour expression on my face, starts laughing, but I ignore him. It’s enough that he’s unbelievably fit and sexy and the boss in this partnership, I’ll not be giving him extra ammunition. I ignore the burning in my calves and sprint just ahead of him so I don’t have to see him smiling at my effort. Fucking hell, why am I doing this again?

We come around the lane to the south paddock and I’ve had enough. I’m just ahead of him - he’s not really paying attention, I’m so much slower than he is, he’s just phoning it in - and I duck under the fence and putting on the last of my energy I surge forward to meet Gladstone - looking at me like I’m a madman - and I spring up and over his back and urge him on in a grand gesture of ego - I can see Seb staring at me with mouth agape and it gives me life - I grab Gladstone’s mane and press my legs against ribs, urging him to jump the fence - and by luck and a lot of effort on Gladstone’s behalf we land just before Seb and canter off, me laughing like an idiot. I turn back, just a moment, and see Seb standing, hands on hips, cursing me like only an Irishman can, and I turn back and lean over Gladstone’s withers and we circle the farm at a canter, both of us pleased as punch.

“Did ya ever think that maybe running would save your life one day?”

I shake my head, eyes on the fire in the hearth. “No.”

Sebastian strides to the mantle and turns so I can’t avoid him. “Did you ever think it might save MY life, Top, did you ever think of that?”

Surprised, I shake my head and look up at him. His face is blank, blank like the first time we were introduced. “No, to be honest. I can’t imagine when you’d ever…” But his expression is grim.

“I understand that ye don’t understand, Top, and that’s my fault,” he says, voice flat. “I’m not just training you to keep yourself safe, Top, I’m training you to save James and even me, I’m training you to save us if needed and you just don’t understand how real of a possibility that is, love. There may come a day when you need to run to keep one of us from dying and I’d hate to think you couldn’t because I’d let you play games instead...” He fixes me with a frank look and I feel myself blush with shame.

I have nothing to say, that’s the longest I’ve ever heard Seb speak, and with such sincerity. I keep my eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m - I’m a rookie. I don’t know your world. I apologize.”

Seb seemingly ignores me. “On the other hand, your improvisation should be applauded. Nothing’s set in stone, no plan is solid, Top, and you need to be able to make decisions quickly and fearlessly based on the situation - and for that, I’d say you were perfect. Admirable, even.”

I venture a glance up from under my lashes and see that he’s smiling at me. “So -” he says, staring me down, “Your pros and cons from today equal zero, love.”

“ZERO?” I sputter.

Seb just laughs. “Oh, yeah... But tomorrow’s another day. Clean slate.”

The sore muscles in my calves and the bruises on my backside from the flagstones protest as I move to stand in front of Seb, but suddenly I know I might as well get used to the feeling of aches and pains. “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you? I’m a ZERO?”

Sebastian suddenly breaks into laughter, a great guffaw that rolls over me as I watch him bend over with the force of it all, and it’s several moments before he can get it under control enough to answer me. “Not the part where ye fucked me brains out, that’s not part of the equation, just so ye know…” and he gives in to laughter again, and now I’m not embarrassed but pissed, and I turn away to leave him to his amusement.

“Sod you, Sebastian Moran,” I say as I stalk out of the room. “You’d better figure out dinner,” I call over my shoulder, “because I get cranky when I’m hungry and right now I’m starving.”

“Ah, put on a dress, Grasshopper,” he calls back, laughing. “and I might even buy you dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

_Bastard._

I've seen Sebastian in a jacket before - the night we went to the club together - but still I’m not prepared when I walk into the living room. He leans against a chair, reading his tablet, dressed in slim charcoal grey trousers and jacket, and a black v-neck cashmere sweater that shows off his admirably taut chest. His copper hair is still wet from the shower, and I surmise he made the wise choice of using the guest bathroom and leaving me to my crankiness, which is entirely wiped away just by looking at him.

Swiping away whatever he was reading, he sets down the tablet and looks me up and down, taking in my tall brown leather boots, white empress-cut dress, and royal-blue velvet jacket. The corners of his mouth turn up as he straightens. “Very nice, Top. You clean up well.”

“Likewise,” I say, taking the hand he proffers and following him to the car. “I'm surprised you're not driving,” I say as we settle into the back seat and Mason pulls out onto the long drive. “You seem like the type to enjoy fast cars.”

Seb smiles enigmatically. “Oh, surely I do. But as reckless as I am, I prefer not to drive if I know I'll be partaking. Besides - this way I can find out what knickers you're wearing without a care.” He slides his hand under my dress, and I laugh at his bold gesture.

“Oh, really? How do you know I'm over being mad at you?”

His lips twitch with amusement as he runs his fingers up my thighs and, moving my satin thong aside, between my labia, and I gasp. He leans back, removing his hand, and slowly placing his fingers between his lips, sucks off the moisture on them. “This.”

“You are not a nice person, Sebastian Moran.”

I get a full smile now, the one with all of the teeth. “I know.” He picks up my hand and kisses it, then gently places it between his two large hands. “What d'ya think about Japanese for dinner?”

At the restaurant, I watch as Sebastian handles the maitre’d, ensuring we have a table with privacy, yet a good view of the room, and how he skillfully chooses wine and orders with a particular authority. It isn't like James, where people are dazzled by his charisma, no, with Sebastian there’s the steel of the military man in everything he does, a grace and an authority that expects to be obeyed. Watching him in public is fascinating - the silliness and the tenderness I’ve enjoyed at the farm simply melt away, leaving a man very much in command of his surroundings, exuding an easy confidence and just the slightest whiff of danger. Sebastian does not look like a man you'd want to cross, not even a little bit. I've been privileged enough to see the kitten - this, here, is the tiger.  

“I hope you know how well I think of you,” he says, leaning back and swirling the Viognier in his glass before taking a long, appreciative sniff of the wine’s nose.

“Oh?” I’m surprised by his words, and I cover by taking a sip. It’s minerals and violets and chalk, and it’s delicious.

Seb nods. “I never sit with my back to the room, aye? I'm making an exception.”

“Because you trust me to watch your back?”

“Not yet. But I'll wager that by the end of dinner, you'll be up to the task.” He lets this sink in, and when he sees my understanding, he says, “Look around the room, Top. Take a good, long look.” He waits while I do so. “Now look at me. Just me.” His blue eyes are mesmerizing. “What’s the man at the third table to my left wearing? Eyes on me.”

I close my eyes for just a moment, searching. “Umm… red tie, blue jacket, white shirt. Conventional. Banker, maybe. Stockbroker.”

“Good. Now look at him over my shoulder and tell me how accurate you were.”

“Shit. The shirt is pale blue.”

Seb nods, “Yes, but it is very pale. Not bad. Again. Eyes on me. Who in this room is armed?”

I smile. “Besides you, you mean?” Seb’s nose twitches in appreciation, but he doesn't speak. I focus on a spot just above his left brow so I don't get distracted by his eyes and let my mind wander through the room. _The table of four near the bar? No, that‘s a billfold in his pocket. I saw something, though, something, what was it?_   “The couple two tables down from the patio door, the man with his back to us. He’s an off-duty cop. It’s their date night. They don't have kids yet.”

Sebastian breaks into a grin. “Very good, Top. Go ahead, look over there to confirm.”

I see it now, what my subconscious has already seen, the line of his jacket broken just at the belt, falling out slightly instead of down. You can't even call it a bulge really, but once you see it, it’s obvious.

I take another sip of my wine. “Okay.” I look into Sebastian’s eyes.

“There’s a woman at the bar who isn't what she seems. Who is it?”

I mentally review, and resist the urge to glance over to the now packed bar.

“Take your time, accuracy first, then speed,” he says.

This time I look into my wine glass while I think. It’s like trying to herd cats, so resistant is my brain to being disciplined, but I force myself to move down the bar mentally, looking at each person in turn.  _They're a couple, uh-oh, these two have just had a fight, hmm, this four-top is two power couples and only two of the four knows they're having an affair, okay, here’s a business dinner, pretty straightforward, here’s a pretty blonde woman waiting for her date who’s late so she’s on her phone trying to not be worried about being stood-up, alright, no - no, wait! She’s NOT on her phone, she’s just pretending to be, she’s -_

“The blonde woman!” I exclaim, and at Sebastian’s look I lower my voice and speak hurriedly. “She’s watching us. She’s been watching us since we walked in, only when we passed by her she was watching us in the reflection of her phone screen.”

Sebastian nods, slowly. “Do not,” he says quietly, “do not look over my shoulder to confirm this one, aye? I’ve already seen her. Look at me.” I do as he says. “I’m going to tell you some very dirty things I intend to do to you later, and I want you to react as you see fit. We'll come back to our game in a tic.”

And when he leans forward and whispers in my ear about how deeply his tongue will be where his fingers were earlier, I don't have to act. I can feel myself blush, and a surge of electricity through my groin. When he leans back, his eyes are very blue, and he smiles with satisfaction at my expression.

“Don't get lost, Top, you're still in training.”

“I don't have a poker face, I don't know that I'm cut out for this, you know?”

“Play to your strengths. What do you do best?”

I've been asking myself that ever since James’ text, but now I know the answer. “Figure things out.”

“So what’s next?”

“Why is she here?”

Seb leans back as the server brings our first course. “That’s a very good question. A right good question, indeed.”

 


	23. Chapter 23

I whistle through my teeth, but quietly, so only Sebastian hears me. “Jesus. Are you saying you don’t know her?”

Sebastian takes a bite of sashimi and then a sip of his wine before answering. He gestures to the food. “Eat, Top, we’re not in danger, not at the moment. Enjoy yourself. And tell me if she leaves the bar.”

I reach for my chopsticks and shake my head. “So I’m right - Christ, Basher. Can you not just answer my question?”

He laughs. “You've answered it for me. Why should I? It’s better for you to learn to think like I do.”

I take a deep breath and smile before looking up at Seb plainly. “You know, if I wanted to spend an evening with James Moriarty, I’d phone him. I want to spend the evening with - with - with my kin, Sebastian Moran. So stop being an asshole.”

Chalk one up for me. He pauses with a bite just before his mouth and sets it down, and leans forward. “Really? You’re calling that in?”

I stare right back. “I am. Enough games.”

Sebastian takes a deep breath and I see his chest expand and contract as he sighs. “Right.” He nods. “Yeah, it’s my turn to apologize, Top. I’m sorry, I get caught up. I like the game with you. My bad.”

We finish our plates in silence.

“Basher -”

“Yeah?”

“She’s leaving.”

He raises his brows. “Yeah?”

But I’m already out of my seat.

“Top, goddammit -” I hear behind me, but I’m already moving.

I doubt she’s leaving for good, so I head for the restroom and yes, just as I guess, I see the door swing shut just before me. The ladies’ room follows the decor of the rest of the restaurant - spare but luxe, if you know what I mean - and in the lounge there’s a slim, wooden bench across from the mirrors. I've already decided to put on my best stupid face and play dumb, because I don’t have a clue as to what Sebastian’s strategy is - maybe he wants her to know that we know, maybe he doesn’t. We didn't exactly get that far.

So when I see the blonde woman texting on her phone glance up at me from the bench, I ignore her. I head to the sinks, where I make a big production of washing my hands. I don’t use the toilet because it just seems altogether too vulnerable to me. I toss the paper towels in the trash and when I look up to powder my nose and reapply my lipstick, she meets my eyes in the mirror. I smile, keeping up the act, and keep it casual, “How’s it going?” But she doesn't smile back.

She’s really quite lovely, I think, as she comes to stand beside me, but only, I sense, in appearance. Her voice is cool. “My boss would like to have a meeting with yours.”

I touch up my lipstick and blot my lips before putting it away. “My boss? I’m on a date.”

She frowns, impatient. “Then you date your boss. Don’t play dumb with me. Women know women. I saw your little charade around the room. And you knew enough to follow me here.”

She reaches into her pocket and for just one moment I feel my nerves amp up, but she merely pulls out a business card. “And speaking of women - one came to us recently with an interesting story. She had just enough pull to get in the door. Her name’s Irene Adler. Heard of her?”

I’m terrible at lying so I merely massage the truth. “I believe she works for my ex, as a matter-of-fact. Fantastic eyebrows.”

Now the blonde woman smiles, an unpleasant smile that snuffs out her beauty in a single expression, and she places the card in my hand. “Your boss knows her better than you do. Take care,” she says as she turns to leave, and I know it’s a warning.

I pocket the card without looking at it and return to the table, leaning down to kiss Sebastian as I sit. He’s furious, I see it in his eyes, but I smile like we’re just a couple in love and pick up my glass of wine. “Sorry, I just needed to use the ladies’ room.”

“You bloody were NOT to leave my line of sight, Top.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, SORRY, I believe you left that out of my contract. Besides, I was pretty sure she wasn't going to kill me in the bathroom. She’s too pretty - too noticeable. Like you.” I let my index finger point at him as I take a sip of my wine, and I see the corners of his mouth twitch. “Take a breath. We’re on a date. That hasn't changed. She left awfully early, I’d hate for anyone else to miss out on the show.”

Seb stares at me for a long moment, his eyes grey, but he takes a breath and raises his wineglass. “Too right. Good call. So, love, tell us what she had to say.”

“I have a card in my pocket. Dunno whose, I didn’t look. But -” and now I lean forward, “- she mentioned a name I’m not overly fond of: Irene Adler.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen, but he says nothing.

“She also said my boss knows her better than I do. Who do you think she meant, Seb, you or James?” I lean back as the waiter serves our second course and watch his face closely.

Sebastian’s countenance is carefully blank. “I couldn't say, to be fair, I don’t know how well James knows her.”

I tap my finger on the side of my wineglass, waiting to see what else will be said, but there’s just a long moment of silence as we stare at each other. Finally I shake my head. “What a fucking dodge. I'm disappointed in you. And I'm disappointed you’d underestimate my intelligence. Trust is all we have, Sebastian. Or was that only for me?” I toss the card on the table. “Call for a bill, I’m done.”

I’m hurt beyond hurt. I've met Irene Adler exactly once; she pressed a gun to my head and held me hostage until my ex - her boss - was released from a game James engineered for his ego. I’ll never forget what my knees felt like on the hard, uneven wood of that dock, and I’ll never forgive. Fuck her.

Sebastian reaches for me. “Top -”

But I pull my hand away. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, have you never heard that?”

“I have,” he says slowly.

“Then you know the opposite is equally true: The friend of my enemy is not my friend.”

My eyes are on the table and I take a last sip of the delicious wine he selected. “How could you, Seb? How could you sleep with a woman who would kill me?”

I don't even look at him, I just stand up and walk away.

 

The maitre’d steps in front of me as I sweep past the reception desk. “Was something not to your liking, miss?”

“The company,” I say as I brush past him and through the glass doors. I’m a half block down the trendy block of galleries, wine shops, and restaurants, when I hear Sebastian behind me. I turn my head without stopping, “Don’t fucking touch me, not even a finger, Sebastian.”

He reaches for me and then, seeing my expression, thinks better of it. “Top - Top, Jesus Christ, will you not hear me out?”

“Why? Men always make excuses, that’s what they do. Jesus. Maybe this is just fucking normal for you and James, eh? A spot of your sadism, Sebastian? No thank you, go fuck yourself. She could have killed me, Seb. She could have fucking killed me.”

Sebastian walks behind me, I can feel him matching me stride for stride, but he wisely doesn't touch me. “Top -” he protests, “D’ya not even care whose card I hold?”

At this I whirl around so fast I surprise even Seb, who has to counter-balance not to run into me. “No,” I hiss, “I thought I was on a team, I thought I was a part of something, but you know what? Between James dumping me in your lap to make you happy and you fucking a woman willing to kill me for a man willing to hit me, you know - FUCK OFF. All of you!”

I see Mason’s expression before I’m even to the door of the car. _Bad night_ , it says, and he’s not wrong. But I don’t make it inside the proffered open door before Sebastian grabs me. When I turn this time, I’m the one furious. “How dare you?” I say, my wrists in his hands, but something in his face, in his hands quiets me, and I stop myself from lashing out.

His lips open and I see his drawn brows and then his eyes, pale blue and electric, meet mine, but he doesn't speak, not yet. His eyes travel over my face, and down to my lips and then - what even - he drops my wrists and turns away, head bowed. His voice is heavy. “I didn't know - I swear to ye, I do  - I didn't know, Top, I’d never -” his voice is pained, thick, and he turns to me and reaches for my hand, kissing it and placing it upon his chest. “I know ye’ve no reason to believe me, you’ve done so much on faith, Top, I can’t tell you - I can’t say what that means, but I swear, I’d not let you down, I swear to you…”

I turn away, but just so I can look at something else, anything but the sexy Ginger who’s somehow become my partner, my kin... “I can’t fucking do this, Seb, I can’t. I still have a heart, do you have any idea? I mean, how fucking long has it been for you?”

He nods, understanding. “A good twenty years, love. But that doesn't make it any easier now.”

I just look at him, mouth open. “What?”

“You heard me.” Sebastian stands up straight and looks down at me, eyes troubled. “I’ll stand here 'till Sunday if that’s what it takes for you to believe me, but I have to tell ye, as a strategy it leaves something to be desired.”

I look down the street, and bite my lip. He’s right, this is all bad, every bit of it. I turn and slide into the backseat, but when we pull away from the curb we don’t head towards the farm.

“Where are we going?”

“Bolthole. Until I know how she found us, we’ll not be leading the hounds back to our den.”

 _Shit. The dogs._ I’ll have to get a message to Lupita to watch them. I wish I’d said a better goodbye.

I take a deep breath. “Pax. But just for the moment, until we have a plan.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” he smiles.

“Who the fuck was the card from?”

Sebastian abruptly stops smiling.

“Have you ever heard of a man named Mycroft Holmes?”

I look over Seb’s face carefully. “No. Why would I?”

Seb smiles ruefully. “Who knows what James does, aye? But if not for him, you've no reason to know. The American people don’t know it and yet - he IS the Department of Homeland Security. He’s THE government, not the dummies you elect.”

I listen intently.

“He’s an ally and an enemy, Top. He has his fingers in, how d’ya say it, every cake.”

“Pie,” I correct, automatically.

Sebastian nods. “Pie. Every pie. He can be bought, but never sold. If he wants to meet with James, well -” He looks out the window. “And if that woman was his assistant, oi - you can imagine how she’d know how to find us. It’s a bad business, aye?” He sighs.

I nod. “No talking business indoors.”

Seb glances to me. “That’s right.” His eyes search my face. “Anaïs-”

_Uh-oh._

“Yeah?”

“What did you mean, James dumped you in my lap to make me happy?” He quotes me nearly verbatim.

I bite my lip to keep from being cruel in payback. “You know what I mean.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Nay.”

“I asked you, Sebastian, I asked you if you knew what he had in mind and you said yes.” I don’t want to go there, I really don’t.

“Och, imagine James having more than one purpose, aye, what a strange thought,” he says, bitter.

 _Oh, Christ, James, you bastard._ I can’t find any way around it. I lick my lips and take a deep breath.

“Seb -” He looks at me and I want to cry, his eyes are so blue and so fucking sad. “James loves you,” I say, but he just looks at me. “He told me that. I guess - you've never - you don’t - well, he loves you. He’s worried about you. He said - he said - you need someone who could give you things that he can’t. He asked me if I could love you. He said you need someone.” Seb looks so stricken I feel tears come to my eyes.

I look up at him. “He sent me.”

He’s so angry, so hurt, I want to look away, but I don’t.

“It was easy,” I say softly.

He presses his lips together and looks out the window. Out of the corner of my eye I see his hands clench and release. “What was? What was easy?”

I steel myself for his anger and place my hand over his. My voice catches when I speak.

“Loving you. It was easy.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

Sebastian takes my hand in his and raises it to his lips. “Top -” he says, voice rough and muted, but then he’s silent, and I wait and wait and wait for him to speak, but he just looks out the window as the miles roll by, holding my hand steady against his cheek.

Finally, I can’t take it. “Basher - tell me, please - what happened that day? You know what day I mean. I never- I never found out.”

“You never asked. James thought it a kindness to not speak of it unless you asked,” he says, quietly. “How do you remember it, Top?”

I pull back, surprised, but Seb holds my hand firmly against his cheek, even as he looks away.

I gather my thoughts, searching for some sort of order. “I - I was so angry, so angry at James manipulating me, I really didn’t even think, I just needed to be outside, to be able to breathe, so I took the first door I saw, I just wanted some fresh air, you know?”

_The tang of salt air and the oil and rust scent of machinery hits me first, and it smells sweeter than a field of lavender, so happy am I to be away from the two men who’ve held my heart. I know there's a very small window for me to disappear so I cut left, and hastily stride down the dock which abuts the building. My shoes are wrong, all wrong, for this uneven surface, and I gasp as my ankle turns, just slightly, on the uneven surface. No matter. I duck right, putting space between the building and myself, and finally I can actually see between the buildings to the parkway that winds between the docks. Jesus. No way will I find a cab or anything so grand, I’m gonna have to walk and make myself invisible at the same time._

_I’m just pondering that when I hear something behind me, and I know James will have sent someone, so I quickly turn into another doorway to the dockside building. Christ, this place is like an inverted Disneyland, every exit leads to a nightmare. I shrink into the shadows and stay still, holding my breath, as I hear footsteps pass by. I wait an extra few minutes in the silence before I dare stand. And then I feel it - the cold metal against my skin, my skull. I was so busy worrying about the footsteps that passed before me I didn’t hear those behind me._

_There’s no greeting, just laughter. “Well, that was easy.” The voice is feminine, almost unbelievably alluring. I find myself longing to see her face, but it’s not to be. “Get on your knees, favored girl. You’re so spoiled, and why? We’ll never know. KNEES!”_

_I hasten to obey, the hard barrel of the gun pressed against my temple a terrific motivator. I swallow a curse as I hit the ground, the uneven wood planking incredibly painful against the bones of my knees, my thin linen dress offering no comfort._

_I hear the sounds of a phone being dialed, and then her bewitching voice as the phone on the other end is answered: “Colonel Sebastian Moran.”_

_Sebastian? James’ second-in-command?_

_I don’t understand the conversation that follows. Where is Sebastian, and who is this woman’s employer, whom Sebastian is apparently threatening? I hear the the click of the phone’s camera app, and then hear her say she’s sending Sebastian a photo. Of me? Sebastian doesn’t even know me. What the hell is going on?_

_I hear approaching footsteps and out of the corner of my eye I see Mason, eyes wide as he looks at me._

_“I wouldn’t come any closer,” says the woman. “I wouldn’t leave, either. It’s a precarious position to be in, isn’t it? If I were you, I’d keep my hands out of my pockets and stand still.” The woman puts her knee in the small of my back so that I’m shoved forward, and I can’t see if Mason complies with her wishes, but I’m guessing he does. Fucking hell. What is going on?_

_The woman speaks into the phone. “Oh, I apologize. It’s Adler, Irene Adler. It would be for the best if we all walked away unscathed, don’t you agree?”_

_And all-of-a-sudden I know exactly who she is, and what she wants: Michael._

_Jesus fucking Christ, James. Look at what you’ve done. You and your games, goddammit._

_My knees are killing me but pride keeps my whimper stifled._

_It feels like years that I’m kneeling there, years, it’s so fucking painful. But finally I hear another set of footsteps, they stand behind me and I hear the woman once again: “That’s right, you see? Get down on the dock and put your hands behind your head,” and I start to comply but suddenly realize the order is for Mason, not me. Apparently I’m already submissive enough. And then I hear the voice of my past confirming it, oh yes, that’s exactly how he likes me._

_“Ana, you always did look good on your knees,” he says in his smoothly unaccented voice._

_I take a breath. I’m still looking down at the dock that causes me so much pain but I speak loud enough to be heard. “I believe I’ve just said - my name is Anaïs. Please adjust accordingly.”_

_Michael laughs. “Oh, you! You never change, huh? So stubborn. Well, sweetheart, life moves on. Take care,” he says, and it’s a dismissal._

_The lovely dulcet tones of the woman follow: “Do yourselves a favor and count to 120 before you move. It would be best for everyone.”_

_I watch their shoes, expensive, both, Italian-made, walk away and then I find myself not just standing but striding - “Hey! You’re not leaving without me!”_

_The woman - Irene - Irene Adler - she turns in surprise but Michael just laughs and keeps walking. “Ana, you’ve not changed at all.”_

_“You owe me a fucking cab ride,” I say._

_“You’re absolutely right,” he says, and gestures to a limousine fifty yards across the tarmac. “We have plenty of room. Be my guest.”_

_Irene Adler turns then, her face set like a statue, and I know I ‘ve made an enemy. It‘s unfortunate. She’s smart, fearless, ambitious. And stunning. Her blue eyes, such a contrast to her dark, nearly black hair, glitter angrily. If she had something to say to me, no doubt it would be a hiss, but luckily there’s nothing to say. They've won._

_I ask to be dropped off at the BART station, ironically the same station where I walked away from James months ago. Well, history repeats itself, I suppose. I should have stayed gone._

“And you, Basher? Tell me, I deserve to know. What the fuck happened?”

He’s still staring out the window, but he puts his free hand protectively over mine on his chest. _Jesus. Sebastian. He slays me._

“James - he fucking stood down - he stood down for you. For you, d’ya understand?”

I’m staring at him, but all it takes is a glimpse for Seb to see. “No. No, ye don’t, ye don’t understand at all,” Sebastian says, not unkindly. “Top - listen. James isn’t a man to give in or walk away, aye? He’d sacrifice the Pope himself to have an edge.”

I nod, slowly, but still -

Sebastian is the one to sigh now. “James let him win so you’d leave unharmed, Top. Can you not see it?”

“What are you talking about?”

Sebastian takes a deep breath. “James used to have just one pressure point. Now he has two.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just nod, thinking. “James knew I’d leave, then?”

Sebastian smiles at the memory. “He actually thought you’d like his little present. I tried to tell him, but he always thinks he’s the smartest person in the room. That’s his weakness, aye? And when we walked out - Mason told us - you’d left with Michael… You should have seen his face. Och, Top, he was so angry, so bloody angry.”

He turns to look at me. “This situation - I’ve no doubt it stems from that day, Top. I’ve some calls to make when we arrive. I need to think, love. But I’ve not forgotten what you said.” He leans down to kiss me and it’s a promise made without words. He breaks it off and raises his hand, caressing my cheek. The look in his eyes makes me want to cry.

“It was just once, and I had no idea who she was. It was a bad decision, and not the first... No doubt we’ll pay for my mistakes, too.”

We’re silent all the rest of the drive. We end up in a suburban subdivision in the East Bay, every house looks just like the next. We’ve switched roads and directions so many times I simply stop caring about where we’re heading. I pull out my phone to check my texts, but Sebastian quickly places his hand over mine and shakes his head. “Triangulation, Top. And who knows what else -  if Mycroft wants to find us, no doubt it’s just a matter of time. But I’d like all the time I can get. I’m sorry, but for the moment, turn your phone off, love.” I do as he says, and we pull into the garage of one of the cookie-cutter houses. The garage door closes behind us, and as we step out of the car, Sebastian nods to Mason, keeping me behind him. “Stay here, Top, I’m very serious,” he says, pulling a Glock .40 out of his shoulder holster. I nod. As Mason opens the door, Seb crouches in a tactical stance and, covering each other, he and Mason clear the house efficiently, coming back to me in just minutes.

“Okay, Top,” Seb says, as Mason opens the trunk, “Grab a bag.” I’m surprised at the amount of luggage, there’s four full suitcases. I look up at Seb, curious. “Always packed,” he answers my unspoken question, “just for this. I might be an idiot from time to time but I’m always prepared.”

Between the three of us we make quick work of bringing the luggage in and Seb and Mason confer briefly before Mason turns to leave. Seb opens a drawer in the kitchen and takes out a cell phone and turns it on. “Pay-as-you-go,” he says, seeing my look. “We’ve a few, so if you need to make calls or text - let me know and I’ll fetch you one.”

“I need to get a message to Lupita to take care of the dogs.”

“I’ve already got Mason on it,” he says. “Anything else?”

“No. The farm runs itself.”

Seb nods. “Good. I’m making calls, I need you to unpack and sort out the bags. I doubt I need to say this, but until we have a plan, I’ll be making the decisions and you’ll be following them. It’s not a game.”

“I understand.”

Sebastian looks over my whole face before leaning in to kiss me, briefly.

“Off you go, then.”

And I do as he says.

It is a bit of a game trying to figure out which clothes and toiletries belong to whom, and where to put them. I eventually decide to unpack my clothes - obvious, although still astonishing, since they’re brand new but both fit and suit me - in the master suite, along with Sebastian’s - also obvious, as he’s the tallest.

The next two suitcases are a bit of a conundrum. I take them both to the first guest room and take a quick inventory. One must belong to James - it’s full of Brooks Brothers, Armani, Prada and such - which, by elimination, means the last must belong to Mason. I unpack it carefully and neatly, and take the remaining bag to the second guest room.

Should I unpack it? I can’t imagine James staying here, he hasn’t shown the least bit of interest in communicating with me for what feels like ages. But Seb told me to unpack them, so I suppose he means all of them.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, smoothing any wrinkles out of James’ shirts before folding them and trying not to miss him terribly, when Seb comes in, still wearing his charcoal suit from dinner. He takes one look at my face and kneels beside me.

“I don’t think so, either, Top, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

_Oh, Sebastian._ He’s worried about me, in the midst of all this. I take his head in my hands and kiss him softly. “We all do stupid things,” I whisper against his cheek. The stubble of his jaw against my skin makes me feel raw, and sensitive. “It’s seems your mistakes and mine have converged.”

“Too right. But - those mistakes brought you to me.”

My hands tighten in his hair. “Sebastian -”

But before I can even finish my sentence, he grips me roughly, his lips finding mine, and his kiss is pure possession. I drop my hands to his chest, pulling the soft cashmere up, needing to feel his skin under my hands, and it doesn’t disappoint, the smooth, long muscles and sweetly goosebumped skin tautening under my nails.

Sebastian groans against my mouth and with one hand, pulls my dress up around my waist while the other searches, fingers pulling my satin thong aside as he did earlier, but this time my hands reach for his belt, then his fly, and suddenly we’re both fierce with desire.   
“Christ, Sebastian,” I moan as he enters me, and I see his look of gratification and then the clench of his jaw as he thrusts into me, hard, harder still, wanting me to give in, and it’s too easy, it’s so easy to relinquish myself to his fierce need, and so satisfying to see him watch me as I come, his eyes bright and electric. His jaw tightens as he watches me and his hands pull my hips up to his as he thrusts deeply and it’s one, two, just three strokes before I hear his voice break and see his eyes close as he pulls me against him and I’m caught up in his energy, fierce and uncompromising. He pulls me to him as he breaks and I’m tucked into his neck, sweaty with need but I don’t care, and he kisses down my hair and my neck and my jaw before we separate.

“Top -” he says urgently, “- don’t doubt me. Do not doubt me, I don’t make an oath lightly.”

I wrap my arms around him. He’s all I have, but even still, he’s beauty walking - and mine.


	25. Chapter 25

“You know, love, when we make our way to bed tonight I think you should leave those boots on.” Sebastian raises his eyebrows meaningfully as he watches me towel off, my dress hiked around my hips with one foot on the baseboard, giving him a view of the knee-high brown leather - and everything else.

“Oh, Basher, you’re a simple man with simple tastes,” I tease. “Or maybe -” I pull my dress down and move to kiss him, my hands on his chest, “ - maybe you’re a good man with good taste.”

Sebastian sobers as he looks down at me. “Many things I might be, Top, but a good man isn’t one of them.”

I shake my head as I move to finish putting away James’ shirts. “Let me keep my illusions, at least for tonight. It’s been - it’s been a night... But tell me what’s going on, Seb. Shall we take a walk?”

Seb smiles grimly. “It’s a fine night for a walk, aye?”

“Are we going out like this?” I gesture to his suit, my dress.

“No, you’re spot on, we need to be invisible. Casual, aye?” He comes to kiss my forehead. “Finish up and change, meet me in ten.”

I reach up to stop him from leaving. “Basher -”

“Yeah, Top?”

“I trust you. Be the one man who lives up to my trust, eh?”

He blinks twice, long ginger eyelashes against his strong cheekbones. His voice is rough, unguarded. “Yeah -” there’s just the faintest pause as he takes a breath, “- you’ve my word.”

He kisses the top of my head, and then he’s gone, and I stare down at the McQueen tie in my hands.

_Where is James?_

I play the part of a suburban soccer mom well, in my jeans and trainers and cardigan, and Seb plays along, in sweats and a t-shirt, which doesn’t do anything to make him less sexy but perhaps just a smidge less obvious. At first glance. At second you’d notice not just a firm body but all the rest of the package. It’s dark out, so maybe that will keep eyes away. We walk along the carefully laid-out streets to the central park of the subdivision, holding hands like a couple in love for the sake of anyone looking our way.

“So?”

Sebastian squeezes my hand lightly. “Ye need the background.” He sighs deeply, and there’s just a minute where I think he won’t tell me, and then - “I’d been in Uganda on a job - James pulled me out, thought I’d done a mess of it, set me off to follow you, be your ghost. I’d just been in your flat and done his bidding, as I always fucking do, and I needed something to wet my throat... “ I see the shame in his glance and look away.

“So I made my way to the Capital Grille, and I’d no more had my second pint and chaser of Bushmills when she slid in next to me at the bar. Well -” he sighs again, “- you’ve seen her. She could seduce James himself if she put her mind to it. I was flattered, that’s God’s honest truth, I was angry, and I was flattered. James was fucking right, like he always fucking is - I wasn’t in my right mind. I’d enough of the drink - I didn’t even recognize her voice when she called at the warehouse, do you know that? I was - I was fucked. I’m sure she got my number from me own fucking phone, how amateur, how fucking amateur is that?” He shakes his head angrily, and I have to hustle to keep up with his steps.

“Basher -”

“Yeah?”

“Could you chill out, please? Mr. and Mrs. Suburbia aren’t stalking through the neighborhood, okay?”

Abruptly he slows, still angry but under control. “I called to make reservations tonight, Top, while you were in the shower. My phone, MY FUCKING PHONE.”

I squeeze his hand. “You - you did change your number after the whole dockside thing, right?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “Fucking hell, Top, I hope that’s your idea of a joke. Of course I did, but it’s fucking Mycroft Holmes we’re talking about and I just have to wonder if he wasn’t backing Irene Adler from the start. What do you know about her?”

“I heard her name from Michael, but I never met her. He spoke glowingly - she was Deputy Chief of Staff for Congressman Ellsworth, as I recall, and Michael was impressed with the way she handled a piece of legislation he’d written. She pushed it through, she made deals, she was ballsy. When Michael’s Chief of Staff stepped down to run a campaign in San Diego, he offered Irene the job.” I glance up at him. “This is just when things were getting really bad, you know, between us, so I don’t really know anything else. Although - now I wonder if they were having an affair. Her loyalty seems a bit more than that of an employee - but who knows. It could have started later. Clearly, she’s not fond of me.”

“Aye, but what’s her agenda? Why now? I mean - she got my number months ago, how did she know she’d need it? The Senator was still in prison.”

“I don’t know, Basher. We just don’t have enough data.”

He nods, and we walk in silence. I hope he’s keeping track of where we are and how to get back, because every street looks exactly the same to me. All these snug little houses and simple little lives. Sometimes I wish I was made that way. But no. I have this life instead.

We turn a corner and I see the central park of the subdivision, a soccer field on one side, picnic tables in the middle, and a children’s playground on the side closest to us. The pitifully skinny trees along the street look like they were planted yesterday.

“C’mon,” I say, and pull Sebastian towards the swings.

He raises his eyebrows. “Do you expect me to push you?”

“Nope. I’m a big girl. I can handle it myself.”

Sebastian smiles now, it comes and goes quickly, but it’s what I wanted, needed. I hate it when he’s in pain.

We take a seat side-by-side and I push off, swinging back and forth. Sebastian, arms crossed, makes moats in the wood chips with his shoes.

I let the swing gently rock to a stop. “My racehorses. I should be at the track tomorrow.”

He doesn’t look up. “I know. We’ll be in Sacramento tomorrow morning, you can tell your trainer in person that you’ll be out-of-town for a bit, and not to expect you at the meets.”

“Oh?”

“James will call her and tell her he’s had a threat and needs extra security at her barn for his horses, but of course they’ll be there for yours as well. I’ve sent word to have 24/7 security at the farm, which we should have, anyway. It’s just - it’s been a long time since we’ve been threatened. We’ve gotten soft.”

“That’s how you see this, as a threat?”

“Oh, aye, it’s a threat, indeed. We just don’t know how widespread it might be. Better safe than sorry.”

I nod, taking it in. “Okay. What happens now?”

Sebastian glances up at the sound of a car, I can feel his body tense next to mine as the headlights sweep over us, but then it’s gone, and he relaxes.

“Mason’s gone to the city to drop off the town car and report to James directly. The car’s too conspicuous here. He’ll pick up a car more suited to this neighborhood and do the food shopping.”

“Thank god, I’m starving.”

Seb turns to me, smiling, but his voice is serious. “And who’s fault is that? I tried to buy you dinner.” He pokes a long finger into my ribs and I jump. “Maybe next time you’ll learn to eat when you have the chance.”

A sharp retort comes to my lips but I swallow instead. “You’re right,” I nod. “I’ve been much too self-indulgent with my emotions lately. It’s a brave new world. I’ve gotta let my brain rule my heart, not vice-versa.”

Sebastian gazes at me soberly. “Quite right, Top. I can’t stress enough how bloody important your mindset is. It’s everything. We only play to win. If ye learn nothing else from me, etch that in your heart: We only play to win.”

“Understood.”

Sebastian stands and stretches. “It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow. We’ll be up early to run - yes, yes we will -” he says, seeing the look on my face, “- and then we’ll pick up a car and take a drive to Sacramento. We’ll stop at the track and make the errands I already had in mind, and then - I think we’ll be having an early dinner with Mr. Holmes. I think it quite likely he’ll accept our invitation.”

I stand up in surprise. “So soon?”

“No time like the present, love.” He smiles grimly, and takes my hand. “And if he does, you’ll wear a suit. You’ll say nothing. You’ll sit behind me, slightly. You’ll take note of everything. You’ll be to me what I am to James, do you understand?”

“Perfectly. But you should let me drive.”

“And for what reason?”

“Because I’m a good driver and I know Sacramento much better than you do.”

He thinks it over. “Agreed.”

“Fine,” I say as we walk, “Get me something German with a stick shift, sport suspension, and a moon-roof, please. An Audi S5 would do nicely. There’ll be enough leg room for you, but it’s still a coupe. I’m not fond of leather, though, and I think that’s standard.” I shrug. “Dunno. If you can get it in cloth, that would be ideal. If not, not.”

Sebastian stares at me, open-mouthed, and then laughs, his whole body shaking with laughter.

“What?” I ask, piqued.

It takes a moment for his laughter to subside enough to speak. “You know the morning I offered to make breakfast, d’ya remember what you said?”

“Yeah, of course. I said God made the perfect man.”

“Ye’ve just done the same from a man’s point-of-view. Well done, Top.”

And once again he offers me a mock salute, and the grin that shows all of his teeth.

“This is fucking brilliant,” I say as I slide behind the wheel. “This makes running three miles bearable.”

Seb grins. “Tell me - do you by any chance like motorcycles?”

“Ducati. Followed by Triumph. But shhh -” I put a finger to my lips. “Let’s appreciate this first.” I turn the key and the engine jumps to life with a throaty growl. “Oh, my…This is a feat of engineering. God Bless.”

I fasten my seatbelt, adjust my seat, and pull out into traffic, grinning like an idiot.

Thankfully it’s after 9, so I’m not in rush hour traffic, but it’s still thick as we wind up the 80. I have good company and a fast car, so I don’t let it bother me. It’s another beautiful day in the Central Valley and I roll the window down when traffic slows at Vacaville, and again at the Budweiser brewery near the turnoff to Napa.

“Tell me about Mycroft Holmes. What do we know about him?”

Sebastian smiles. “I’ve nothing but admiration for him, Top. As one military man to another.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mycroft Holmes comes from this country’s version of peerage, much like myself. Old Southern family, here before there was any “unpleasantness” to speak of, aye? French on one side, Mayflower on the other, rich all over. Saw The Civil War - or as Southerners say, The War of Northern Aggression - coming and diversified. Played both sides and kept their family estate from burning. Can’t say I blame them. We did the same at Baronscourt with the IRA.” Sebastian sighs, and looks down at his hands, hands that can’t stay still.

There’s a long moment of silence before I speak. “I’m ignorant, I never thought of the connection between your civil war and ours.”

Sebastian sighs deeply. ‘Well - Yeah. We’re peerage, we were loyal to the crown, but we’re Irish, and Catholic.” He sighs deeply. “'Twas hard.” He nods, lips tight.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

“Well. Those days are behind us, aye? I’m not a man to dwell in the past.” He looks out the window for a moment, and sighs. “So. Mycroft Holmes attended The Citadel as a cadet, got into the honors program, and did an internship with Senator Shelby of Alabama, before completing his law degree at the University of Virginia.  Southern military tradition, it’s run in his family for generations. Commissioned as an officer into the Coast Guard, which ye might know, is now under the Department of Homeland Security. Rose through the ranks to Captain, then was tapped to the National Infrastructure Protection Center, which used to be run by the FBI. Now, he’s with the National Protection and Program Directorate, so who the hell knows what he actually does. He’s a political animal, incredibly well-connected.”

“Oy vey. This guy is serious.”

“Very serious.”

“Pressure points?”

“Two. A younger brother in New Orleans with a drug problem, and a Detective with NOPD. It looks to be a long-term, long-distance relationship, but he’s very, very cautious. We don’t know for sure. He’s never married, does not date.”

I blink. “He’s gay?”

“We think so, but like I said, he plays everything close to the vest.”

“Okay. So… What does he want with us?”

Seb smiles grimly. “That’s the question of the hour, aye? We’ve dealt with him before. We try to be as amiable as possible when dealing with Mr. Holmes. We don’t want a war we can’t win, Top, we’re just businessmen.”

“And what does James say?” I’d heard Sebastian and Mason leave the house as I got ready for bed, but Seb had come to bed late, and I’d left it alone.

Seb’s lips tighten. “He says he’s busy. He leaves for China tonight. It’s in our hands, Top, we’ll handle it as we see fit.”

I glance at him, disbelieving, before turning my attention back to the road. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s a test.”

“For you or for me?”

“For both of us.”

“Trial by fire, eh? Fucking fantastic.”

Sebastian smiles. “Look at it this way, Top. It means James has faith in us.”

I glance at him and sigh. “You and your fucking sunny personality, Basher, you’re killing me here.”

“Och, Top - nothing ventured, nothing gained. Challenge is what keeps us alive.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter darkly, as the miles roll by.


	26. Chapter 26

“So what’s the plan?” I say as we pull away from the track, a bittersweet half hour of petting my horses and CaviarNCigarettes, James’ Invitational horse. I miss James despite everything, I’ll probably never stop missing him no matter how much of a heartless bastard he can be. And I’m sad knowing I won’t see my horses for some time. My life - it’s changed so abruptly, it’s so strange.

“We’re headed to Watt Avenue, d’ya know it?”

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “I do. Not the greatest neighborhood.”

“It wouldn’t be the first or last time that’s of use to us, love.”

I glance at him, surprised at how relaxed he looks.

“Are our dinner plans on?”

“They are. We’ll take a room at the Hyatt and change, then meet Mr. Holmes and his assistant at Chops.”

I nod, it’s a high-end steakhouse across from the Capitol Mall, with private dining rooms.

“How do you know it’s secure?”

Sebastian glances at me, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We don’t.”

And then I realize - he loves this, the danger, the pressure - it gives him life.

At my expression, he laughs. “Don’t worry, Top, we’ll be picking up a few items that will put your mind at ease. I may have a few years experience in this field, you know.”

“Yeah, okay.”

A few miles pass up the 80, the traffic is surprisingly light for the moment and I let myself relax enough to just enjoy this moment.

Seb looks at me thoughtfully. “So - James tells me you know how to shoot.”

“I do.”

“Rifles?”

“No, just self-defense. Did he tell you why?”

“You tell me,” Sebastian says.

I shrug. “Michael threatened me.”

A long moment of silence stretches out, one mile, two, and then -

“That’s all you have to say, then?”

“Yep.”

Sebastian nods, “All right, I can respect that. What do you prefer?”

“Glock 19, compact 9mm, night sights, 15 + 1 magazine, Black Talon hollow-point.”

He laughs. “Well, then, thank God we’ve cleared that up.”

“I know a .40 is a better round but the 19 has a better recoil for my hand. I can fire a .40 accurately in full-size, but it’s too big to conceal on my frame, and the compact has a kick that I just can’t totally absorb.”

Seb shakes his head, grinning all the while. “This is like foreplay.”

I glance at him. “It’s nothing of the sort, it’s my life.”

“To each their own,” he says, grinning. “Do you like shooting?”

“Yeah, I love it. Going to the shooting range - it’s like sanctioned violence. Do you have any idea how rare that is for a woman?”

Sebastian nods thoughtfully. “I hadn’t, but I see your point. If you like it so much, why don’t you own a gun?”

“The chances of me getting a concealed carry permit in this county are basically nil, and I’m not worried about my safety in my own home - that’s why I have dogs.”

“I see. And tell me, love - how are you with a pistol?”

I change lanes to thread my way through traffic to our exit. “I have a theory, that you’re either really excellent from the get-go, or you practice for thousands of rounds and only end up good at the end of it. Or you’re a fucking menace.”

Sebastian smiles. “That’s exactly right. Which are you?”

“The first time I ever shot a gun, I shot a bullseye. More than one. I’m not boasting. It just - I got it. The hand/eye coordination - I had it.” I glance at him, briefly, and I can’t help smiling before I look to his mirror and exit. “I couldn’t say how I’d be with a rifle, though.”

Sebastian can’t keep the smile out of his voice. “We’ll just have to find out together, love. Go on for another mile or so, then we’re looking for the corner of Wallace St..”

It’s a pawn shop on the edge of a block of drug deals and auto shops, nothing to recommend it, neon sign buzzing with anger, the ‘p’ in ‘pawn’ blinking in and out.

“Basher - should I stay with the car?”

Sebastian laughs. “No. No one will bother us.”

I set the alarm on the car, and follow him inside. Sebastian says a few words to the clerk up front and we’re ushered into a private room.

It’s dusty and dark, the end of the room closed by curtains.

“Basher -” I whisper.

“Wait.” His voice is final.

An older Asian man parts the curtains. I look over his face from top to bottom but I have no idea if he’s Chinese, Korean, Thai - I’m really not equipped.

Sebastian nods his head, though, and speaks easily. “Mr. Cho. Thank you for your time.”

The man nods. “Col. Moran. At your service.”

“I appreciate it. I have a few very specific needs. I wonder if I could talk with you privately?”

The man nods, face inscrutable. “Of course, Colonel.”

Sebastian gestures to me. “Wait here.”

I do, questions stacking up with every minute. But soon they’re back, both nodding politely. Sebastian gestures to me. “Come, love - our business here is complete.” He picks up two hard cases and smiles at me. “D’ya have the keys, love? Can you get the boot for me, then?”

We slide into the seats of the Audi coupe, but I don’t turn the ignition. “There’s no point in asking, is there?”

“Oh, Top, you can’t stand it, can you? You’ll know soon enough. Now we need to head down to Elk Grove. There’s a really decent gun store there.”

“Oh, fine. Keep your partner in the dark.” I sigh as I turn the key and pull away from the curb.

“You’re a junior partner, Top.” His voice is firm, his face serious. “In our world, information comes on a need-to-know basis. You need to know where Mr. Cho does business. You might need to do business with him some day yourself. But - you do not need to know what my business was today.”

I glance over at him. “It’s sexy, you know that?”

“What is?”

“When you’re all business. When you won’t give in.” I smile as I change lanes and the sweet engine responds. “It just makes me want to try all the harder.”

A quick look shows me the mirth in his eyes, but he keeps a straight face. “Are you listening to me?”

“Of course, Sensei.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Now I’m not sayin’ hot and metal, but I’m sayin’ hot and metal -” I say in his accent, mocking him.

Now Sebastian laughs. “Yeah - piss off, then.”

I giggle.

Miles pass.

“Basher -”

“Yeah?”

“This shit is fun, isn’t it?”

He smiles the smile of a man at home. “Oh, yeah, Top. That’s what I couldn’t tell ye. But here ye are, just the same. Kin.”

Our last stop is a familiar one, an inconspicuous area of West Sacramento, we’ve fairly circled the city.

“He’s my friend,” I protest.

“I know. I’m not going to hurt him, Top, Jesus. I’m going to bring him business.” Seb looks at me like I’m thick.

“I know, but… we could have called. I just - it’s not a good surprise. After the whole file thing.”

“Oh, piffle, a man in his field should have some balls.”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

We pull into a small row of shops and offices, each nondescript.

Seb follows me to a corner office. The door’s unlocked but no one sits at the reception.  I pause, sheepish, but one look from Seb and I find my voice. “Rich? Ritchie? It’s me, Anaïs.”

A voice calls from the inner office. “Yeah, c’mon in.”

I pause as I come around the corner, Rich is deep in thought typing up something on his laptop. He glances up at me. “What’s going on? No call? I haven’t seen you in -” His voice abruptly drops off as he sees Sebastian behind me. He glances back to me like a man betrayed.

I wince. “Sorry -- I’m sorry, he didn’t think you needed fair warning.”

Rich looks grim. “Yeah. Well. What is it this time?”

Sebastian moves past me, smoothly, holding out his hand. “I apologize, Mr. Brook, for our last meeting. I come here with a reasonable offer - I think we could help each other. I certainly have no cause or intent to make you uncomfortable.”

Rich glances at me and I give him the scantest millimeter of a nod.

Sebastian catches it, too, but doesn’t turn his head. “Anaïs, take a walk. A ten-minute walk.”

Surprised, I look at Rich, but he does an admirable job of not looking scared.

“So… Fine. I’m going to Whole Foods. Do either of you need anything?”

“Coffee.”

“Tea.”

“Yeah, right, do either of you take milk or sugar? Since I’m living in the 1960’s?”

“Both,” they say in unison.

I sigh and walk away.

When I come back, paper cups in hand, I find the two of them standing side-by-side looking at the coupe with the easy, relaxed body language of men with a mutual understanding. Rich smiles as I hand him his coffee. “Nice ride.”

“You like that? Maybe you’ll have to take it out for a spin sometime.” I hand Seb his cup and he nods his thanks.

“Oh,” says Rich, still smiling, “who knows? If your friend here is to be believed, maybe I’ll just get one of my own.”

I glance at Seb, but he keeps an admirably straight face. “Ah. Well, even better.”

Sebastian holds out his hand to Rich. “I appreciate you hearing me out, Mr. Brook.”

“Call me Rich.”

“Rich. I’ll be in touch this afternoon.”

Now it’s Rich who nods. “You know where to find me.” He turns to me and to my great surprise, kisses me on the cheek. It isn’t the first time, but it’s been a great, long while. I gather I’m forgiven. “Thanks for the coffee. Don’t be a stranger.”

“No problem.”

Sebastian gestures to me and opens the car door.

As I slide behind the steering wheel, Rich just shakes his head, and turns back to his office. Seb says nothing until we are many blocks away. “You’re doing a fine job of not asking me questions, Top. It’s been a good five minutes, now. Well done. Fancy a spot of lunch?”

I just glance at him. “I fancy you telling me where we’re going next.”

“Don’t be cranky, Top. I know it pains ye to not be in the know.”

I say nothing. He’s not the only one with a stubborn streak.

Seb laughs. “Head downtown. I need to make a few arrangements at the restaurant for our meeting. Your Mr. Brook will be making sure it’s secure, no bugs, no plants, aye? I just need to let him know which dining room.”

_Oh. So that’s what he meant. Interesting._ I ponder the probabilities of the meeting until we’re in downtown traffic.

“Why did you have me take a walk?”

“Because men swallow their pride much easier when they don’t have an audience. Pull into the Hyatt, love, I’m sure they’ll find us an early room. Two minutes, Turkish,” he says, throwing my own reference back at me with a grin, and hops out with that lithe grace I find so appealing. He returns a few minutes later with a sunny smile. “Park, Top, I’ll not be trusting a valet with our packages. What do you think about room service? I’m in the mood to eat naked.”

“Jesus, Basher.”

“Oh, if I’m going off to my death I intend to have a good meal and an even better shag first, love,” he says cheerfully.

**  
**And as it turns out, he’s not joking. Not even a little bit.


	27. Chapter 27

Staring in the mirror, I look myself over quite seriously. I need to do this right, not just for Sebastian, but for myself. James asked me to be bigger than I imagined, Seb has chosen me to trust. And I’ve sworn allegiance to both.

“That’s quite a sigh, Top, are ye all right?”

Glancing up, I see Seb standing in the doorway. He looks devastatingly handsome in a navy three-piece suit. His ginger hair is carefully combed back, his skin freshly shaved. He wears a pinky ring I’ve never seen before - looking closer, I recognize the Miraculous Medal, I had no idea that was ever put on anything but a necklace, it’s a fascinating choice. I look up to meet his pale blue eyes. “How long have you been watching me?”

“I do enjoy watching a woman put on makeup, I’ll not lie to ye.” He smiles, but without irony. “Does your suit fit, then?”

“It does, how do you do that?” It’s classic AnnTaylor, crisp and flattering.

“Come now, Top, I know your body.”

Something about his statement sends a shiver down my spine. “I can’t decide how to wear my hair.”

I watch in the mirror as he moves to me, reaching his hand to lift my hair off my shoulders. “Allow me.”

I say nothing, but it’s an indication of my trust that I allow him to touch me with such intimacy. His hands move with surprising confidence, and as I watch, he twists and pins my hair into a flattering loose knot at the back of my neck, with a few strands left long at the nape.

Looking from side-to-side, I see how he’s melded business with pleasure, bringing out both sides of me. “And again - how do you do that?”

Seb just smiles. “You were right - I like women. I’ve been a student for many a year, love.”

I laugh now, and it breaks the tension of wondering if I can pull this off. Sebastian believes in me, that’s enough. “Okay, Basher. You win. Now give me your game plan.”

It’s not a coincidence, I think, that these two men have women as their consiglieres. They size each other up with mutual respect, both dressed immaculately, both with quiet confidence. Mycroft Holmes is taller than I expect, nearly as tall as Seb, but that’s his only notable feature. Like civil servants the world over he manages a very convincing “everyman” look that allows an easy blend into the crowd, but on closer inspection I see the signs of money and class: a perfect manicure, skin glowing from a facial, hair ever-so-subtly colored to keep the grey at bay  Interesting. _Vanity. A pressure point._

Holmes’ assistant gives me a cool head-to-toe glance. I wonder if that’s her response to everyone, or all other females, or just me. Her lovely, almond-shaped blue eyes and casual blond curls falling just below her chin say ‘soft’ but the set of her lips says otherwise, and I wonder if it’s by nature or training. Or necessity. I smile at her, inviting her to respond, and I see her eyes widen, but she frowns in response. I have to bite my lips to keep a straight face. Strike one for me.

I stand behind Sebastian. As the host, he speaks first. His voice is low and relaxed as he reaches out his hand. “Mr. Holmes, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to parler. My employer sends his regrets, he’s overseas at the moment. How may we be of service to you?”

Mycroft Holmes smiles at Sebastian, and something, just a flicker at the edge of his eyes tells me he enjoys Sebastian’s submission as well as his masculine good looks. A quick sideways glance at Holmes’ assistant tell me she feels the same. Well, chalk one up for Seb. Those ridiculous cheekbones shouldn’t be wasted, certainly.

“It’s always a pleasure to break bread with you, Mr. Moran,” Holmes says in his honeyed Southern tones. “Anthea tells me you missed finishing your dinner last night, I do apologize. I hope you and I can enjoy a whole meal together.” Holmes gestures to Sebastian to take a seat.

“I’m all ears,” Sebastian says easily, pulling out his chair, and Holmes follows.

Both Anthea and I remain standing until Sebastian motions for me to take a seat. I’m concious of my posture, but in all other ways strive to be relaxed and tuned into Sebastian. He feels me, I know it, I see just the hint of a smile. His attention turns to the matters at hand.

“Mr. Holmes, -”

“Please - call me Mycroft. After all, we’ve worked together before.”

Seb nods. “Mycroft, you’re a busy man, an important man. What’s on your mind?”

Mycroft shrugs, genially, as if this is just a dinner between old friends. “You know, Sebastian - you don't mind if I call you by your Christian name? - I always enjoy a meeting with a likeminded individual.” His eyes flick to me, and he takes me in with a quick glance. “And your choice of companions has mightily improved, if you’ll forgive my impertinence.”

Sebastian smiles now, inviting Mycroft to join him. “Och, I couldn’t agree more. I’ve been fortunate.”

A waiter comes in, with good timing, as well as a server who fills everyone’s water glasses. I’m desperate for a sip, but I wait until Mycroft raises his glass to his lips. He glances over the menu and makes a few remarks to the server that I can’t make out, and the server nods, deferentially, and exits, while the wine steward remains.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us, I hope y'all don’t mind,” Mycroft says easily, and Sebastian smiles again, but this time I know it’s because he’s annoyed. But he takes a breath and relaxes into negotiations.

“Not at all. You’re a man of good taste.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you to say. Much appreciated. My mama always said it’s impolite to discuss business before we’ve even had a chance to wet our throats. What will you be having, Sebastian?”

 _Oh, Christ. It’s one of those dinners. He’s gonna take hours to say could could be said in ten minutes._ I take a small sip of water and keep my face impassive. He has the upper hand, there’s nothing to be done but go along with it.

“A wee tumbler of Jameson wouldn’t go amiss,” Sebastian replies, pouring on the melodic Irish lilt to match Mycroft’s Southern accent. It’s a fascinating game between these two, and I realize suddenly that I wouldn’t miss it for the world, that I’m even enjoying it.

Mycroft nods at the wine steward. “Y’all civilized enough to have a bottle of Rock Hill Farms Bourbon behind the bar? I take mine neat. And a bottle of Leroy Bourgogne Blanc for the ladies, we’d surely not want to leave them parched.”

 _What a showoff, good grief._ My thoughts about vanity being his pressure point have just gone up several notches, but I smile as if I’m flattered.

“So, Sebastian, a little bird told me you’re a bit of a ladies’ man.” Mycroft cocks his head to the side and smiles.

Seb shakes his head as he returns the gesture. “Is that right? Well, you know little birds, they’re always chattering away. One wonders if they say anything of note.”

“I’ve always enjoyed the notes of a songbird, myself, sport.”

Sebastian laughs. “I’ve no doubt you’ve heard many a bird sing. I’m sure you can be quite persuasive.”

The server returns now, placing tumblers of amber liquid in front of the two men, and they raise glasses to one another. As the wine steward follows, I glance at Anthea. She’s too busy texting on her phone to notice the exchange. _So. She’s not actually privy to his thoughts. Interesting. Mycroft trusts no one. Well. One less pressure point for him. Damn._

As I taste the wine and nod to the server to pour, I see Mycroft watching me shrewdly. “Is it to your liking, darlin’?” he asks with calculated familiarity, but I don’t let it get to me. He can bathe me in Southern charm all day long, I still know my part.

“Very nice, thank you,” I answer politely.

He nods. Apparently I’ve answered his question on more than one level, because he turns back to Sebastian.

“Well, this little bird didn’t need any persuading. She has quite a lovely voice, as well. Irene Adler. Am I to understand you two are - how shall I say this discreetly - acquainted?”

This is not unexpected, so Sebastian’s face doesn’t change. “Y’know we are. Let’s cut to the chase, Mycroft. Irene came to you and told you she had my personal number. And that she made a call to me on behalf of her employer when he was in me company - but not, shall we say, in me good graces.”

“Indeed. It’s a mighty interesting story, sport.”

“And why d’ya care?”

Mycroft winces. “Come now, Sebastian, you know us Southerners don’t cotton to poor manners.”

“And you know as well, Mycroft, as Irish as I am, I’m a straight shot. And a good one.”

“I think you may have spent just a tad too long in that Yankee town of Boston. You’ve forgotten your roots, friend.”

Seb laughs, and raises his glass. “To the roots that keep us grounded, then.”

And as Mycroft raises his glass, he glances at me for just a moment, but it’s a telling look. He’s clearly not attracted to me, so it’s something else. But what?

“Now far be it from me to imply I know what goes on between members of the fairer sex, but I almost got the impression that Miss Adler is not fond of you, Miss Nielsen.”

I blink at the use of my name, but let Seb answer for me. “You’re under that impression, aye? Then I daresay you’d be wanting to factor that in when you weigh the words she sang.”

Mycroft smiles now, as he takes a sip of his bourbon. “Now, it’s a mark of my respect for you that I’m not gonna take that as an insult, sport. You’d think I was born in a cotton field.”

Sebastian grins as he swallows the last of his whisky. “Mycroft Holmes, I think you’re flirting with me. Ye know perfectly well the respect I have for ye. We’re just playing the game.”

Mycroft’s eyes widen, just for a moment, and then he laughs, a great, deep laugh that pulls even Anthea away from her phone momentarily.

Chalk up another for Seb. I’ve never seen him in this capacity, and I’m impressed.

Sebastian motions to the wine steward, and orders a Rhone red, a Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He raises his thick brows to Mycroft. “You dinna mind, aye?”

Mycroft’s lips twitch. “Sport, you make a fine dinner companion.”

I watch Seb relax into their conversation, and it’s literally an hour later and three dinner courses, dishes having been cleared, brandy in tumblers before each man, before the topic comes around to the point.

“So, Mycroft, what’s your interest here?”

“Well, Sebastian, Senator Wallace -Thomas is a friend of the family. Oh, I do apologize, have I not mentioned that before? No? I hated that little unpleasantness that led to his incarceration, but it was so very obvious, there wasn’t much to be done without unneeded attention. You know, he’s been quite useful to us over the years. And your Miss Adler seems to think, based on his injuries, that you interrogated him. I’d hate to think that was the case. He knew a few things I’d not like to see amongst the general population, if you cotton to my meaning.”

Sebastian leans back, smiling, the smile that shows all of his teeth. “Oh, you thought that was me? Not a bit, I’m afraid, I never touched him.”

“I beg your pardon?” This clearly isn’t the answer Mycroft is expecting.

“Oh, not a bit. I’m afraid the lady -” Sebastian nods in my direction, “ - She carries a grudge, aye? You’d not want to cross her. I’m afraid my employer has taught her to enjoy the sight of blood.” He sighs dramatically. “You know my employer, He can be so - influential. So - persuasive.” Seb grins, enjoying himself.

Mycroft looks to me, then back at Seb, and suddenly his large, booming laugh rings out. “Is that so? I do declare, I have no idea why I indulge y’all, if not for the good work you’ve done for me in the past. Perhaps I’m getting soft in my old age.” His eyes on me say anything but. “So. Miss Nielsen, pray tell me what the Senator had to say. Don’t be bashful.”

I carefully keep myself from looking at Seb. “Mr. Holmes, the gentleman in question told me nothing. Other than spitefully using his pet name for me and rubbing our prior relationship in my face. I’m afraid I can’t be of any help to you. Michael never told me his business when we were together, and that hasn’t changed since we’ve been apart.”


	28. Chapter 28

Mycroft straightens in his chair. “Now, Miss Nielsen,” he says directly, giving me his full attention for the first time, “why is it I find that tale hard to believe? Surely you don’t expect me to imagine that in all your time as the Senator’s…” and he pauses now, looking me straight in the eye, “...companion...he never confided in you?”

I will myself to stay still under the weight of his gaze and ignore his insult, answering as sweetly as I can muster. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Holmes, but it seems to me I’m quite obviously not the woman with whom he shared anything of importance. I’d rather think the questions you have are best suited for Miss Adler herself. After all, she knew when to place the call.” I shrug and smile politely.

I hear Seb’s short, staccato laugh of approval. “She has a point there, sport. You do your research, aye, so you must know my...companion...isn’t much of a liar. Sad, really. But your Miss Adler, well…” Sebastian shrugs suggestively. “Let’s just say she dinna have me number from a book of matches.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrow at Sebastian’s use of his own phrase, but he just nods slowly and turns to his assistant. “Anthea, my dear, be so kind as to fetch my cigars. Shall we retire to the Rose Garden, Sebastian? We wouldn’t want to bother the ladies with our nasty little habit. The Cubans do have have a rather strong odor, but a mighty fine taste. I trust you ladies can find your own refreshment?”

I feel rather than see Seb’s sudden wariness. “Well.” He leans back in his chair and opens his arms expansively. “I’d be hard-pressed to pass up your kind offer, Mycroft, but Miss Nielsen will be accompanying me.”

The air in the room fairly sizzles, so intense is the electricity. Anthea pauses on her way to the door, as shocked as I am to hear Sebastian’s flat refusal. I see a pulse, small but telling, in the smooth-shaven planes of Mycroft’s jaw.

And then Seb smiles with private amusement. “Besides, she knows the Rose Garden of this fine State Capital like the back of her hand, or so I’m told. I’m sure she can show us a quiet corner.” And the bastard actually winks.

 _I will kill him. With my bare hands._ I cannot believe he’s just referenced my past trysts with Michael, but Jesus, he’s ballsy. And Mycroft appreciates it, he’s flattered, he can’t fucking help himself. _Vanity._

I hold my breath and count to ten before Mycroft stands suddenly. “Very well, sport,” he says, gesturing at the door. “I hope you’re not suggesting Miss Nielsen will be partaking as well?” He gives me the briefest glance of disdain.

Sebastian ignores this little dig as he stands, letting Mycroft enjoy the view of his well-cut suit and broad shoulders. “Och, Mycroft, d’ya know, it wouldna surprise me, not a bit. Any woman that can throw a punch, drive a car, or shoot a gun as well as she can is not be trusted with the good manners of her sex, aye?” And, ignoring me, he puts his arm around Mycroft with brazen familiarity, and guides him to the door.

*****

 _I cannot believe you. I seriously can not fucking believe you. You are the perfect fucking match for James._ I’m muttering under my breath, but I know Seb hears me, at least metaphorically if not literally. I’m trailing behind him by at least ten feet, keeping my respectful distance as a female so as not to offend Mycroft further. That’s sarcasm, by the way. Anthea has already split the scene, having dutifully delivered the cigars. She knows her place, apparently. Well, I’ve already said I’m incorrigible.

“Allow me,” says Mycroft as he lights Seb’s cigar. “Now you may not know this, sport, but I have a fine collection of roses on the grounds of my family home. One of the best in Virginia. My mother, God rest her soul, she tended to the rose bushes like they were her own children.” He gestures broadly, taking in the vast varieties of the Capital garden.

“Let me show you something,” he says, smiling broadly at Sebastian. They match strides, thick puffs of smoke trailing behind them, until Mycroft stops at a side garden. “Right here. There we are, sport. Do you see this?” He points to a deep crimson rose that looks like every other crimson rose we’ve seen, at least to my uneducated eye.

“Now, did you know that the Chinese are responsible for the true red rose, a rose that doesn’t fade with age?” Mycroft smiles at Seb, who does his best to look interested. “Now sport, I know you’re wondering why I’m telling you this. Let me put this into perspective for you. Every single rose that flowers more than once a season is the result of the recessive gene of a stud rose from China in the 1700’s. I myself have a rose that’s over 200 years old. That’s how important China is to breeders and fanciers like myself.”

Sebastian nods, blowing out a single puff of smoke, waiting, I think, for the information he actually needs.

Mycroft turns to him. “Now, Sebastian, you know as well as I do, a gene is just a piece of information. Now one single bit of information can influence the future, spreading, flowering, as it were.” He gestures to the wealth of flowers surrounding us. “And you know, of course, how a plant with the will to survive can perpetuate itself.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes but he just waits. _I’m a very patient man, Anaïs. In this line of work, you have to be._ I can see him calculating the space around himself, around Mycroft, all the time he’s listening.

“Well, sport, sometimes that singular piece of information, it betters the entire species. And sometimes, well...” He reaches into his pocket, drawing out a pocketknife, and just that quickly cuts a perfect flower and hands it to Sebastian. “Now, sport, there are some who think that the red rose equals love. But this here, this is a Chinese rose.”

Sebastian looks at Mycroft thoughtfully, warily. “And with what would should I associate it, then?”

Mycroft smiles now, looking down at the beautiful flower in Sebastian’s hand. “Sport, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet… but not as sweet as hearing you thank me for giving you the opportunity to fix your mistakes.”

To Seb’s credit, he just nods. “And what mistakes might those be?”

“Uganda.”

There’s a silence that seems to last forever, but is over in seconds. Seb nods again, this time to himself, and wets his lips. “A moment,” he says to Mycroft, and turns to face me, striding quickly to the bench where I sit waiting.

“Anaïs -” he says quietly, and at the sound of my Christian name, I know things are bad - “Go to the car.” I nod, just once, and he hands me the rose, pressing my hand with his own before turning away.

I do as he says.

*****

Not that I actually sit in the car. Instead, I walk down to the market on the corner and buy a pack of American Spirits. I figure I can give it to Seb, who will probably truly appreciate it at the conclusion of this evening. I hop up on the trunk and sit with my feet on the bumper, smoking away like I’m 19 all over again. _Dammit. What the hell is going on?_

It’s no more than twenty minutes when he returns. He looks absolutely predatory, from his stride to his eyes, and I see what happens when Seb is angry on a cellular level. He nods to me but doesn’t speak, and I do him the courtesy of opening his door before I slide into the driver’s side.

“Where to?”

Sebastian waves his hand as if it’s of no concern, and I pull away from the curb, but two blocks down, he says, “Get in the middle lane.” And then - “Go north.”

We’re silent for miles. I’m starting to feel painfully worried, because all Seb does is sit like a statue, breathing slowly and meaningfully. Finally -“Take the 80 to San Francisco, Top.”

Surprised, I glance at him. “Are we going to see James?”

Sebastian laughs without mirth. “No, Top. This is all ours to fix.”

We are all the way to the Bay Bridge before he speaks again.

“We’re fucked.”

*****

I park the car in the secure basement of James’ apartment building. I wait for Seb to open the car door, but he sits still for what seems like an eternity.

“I’m confused,” I say quietly, watching the parking area in the rear mirror so as not to look at him.

Also, I’m fucking nervous and I hate parking garages. Too many bad action movies, I guess.

After another long silence, Seb opens his door, and I follow suit. “Open the boot, Top.”

He gestures to me to pick up one of the cases, and he grabs the other, then strides rapidly to the private elevator. “This is the most secure place in the city for us. I need a moment, aye?” He sighs deeply. “Plus, it’s practical. We both have clothes here and I don’t have the mental energy to think about such things now. We won’t be long.”

“Where’s James?” I ask as the doors close behind us.

Sebastian shakes his head as his eyes travel to the ceiling. “Oh, the irony, Top. Our man James is in China. D’ya know what that means?”

I’m too nervous to think it through. “I don’t know, Basher. Just tell me.”

Seb sighs as he looks at me. “Just this once, then. It means that it’s no coincidence that Mycroft cut and handed me a Chinese rose.”

I suddenly feel quite faint, and Seb sees it. “Aye, I feel the same,” he says, and nods. “Trial by fire, indeed.”


	29. Chapter 29

It’s strange how easily I fall into my role. Once inside the spacious residence, I move to the bar and pour Sebastian his Jameson, while for myself I open a bottle of the sparking wine James knows I love. The irony is not lost on me that it’s by J Vineyards; James and I have joked about it more than once. It pains me to remember his amusement at my choice, and I have to take a deep breath. I haven’t been in this flat in weeks, no, a month? And still every part of it calls to me. It’s all I can do to keep it together, but Sebastian needs me. I simply won’t walk into the bedroom, or run my hands over the suits in his closet, or do anything to let the memories crowding me have room to play out. This is too important - sentiment is not welcome at the table tonight.

When Sebastian returns from his suite of rooms sans cases, I hand him the neat whisky and we walk outside to the rooftop garden without speaking. I hand the over the pack of American Spirits wordlessly, and for the first time in hours, Seb actually smiles. “Thank you, Top. Nicely done tonight.”

I’m pleased beyond pleased but I can’t think of the right response, so I just touch his hand, lightly, before moving to the balcony railing. I look out onto the city, the cool wind playing in my hair. My suit isn’t nearly enough to keep me warm, but I’ll change later, after I get some idea of what the hell is going on. At the same time, I don’t want to pressure Sebastian, so I stay quiet.

Sebastian comes to stand beside me. It’s comforting, just standing here together, and I think I’m not imagining it that Seb feels the same. He taps the ash off on the balcony rail and clears his throat. “I asked ye to take note of everything, Top, do ye recall?” His accent is thick and I know it’s one of the subtle signs of his stress. I nod, and he continues,”Tell me what you saw and heard, then. I need every angle, love.”

I close my eyes and let my thoughts come drifting down into my conscious mind. “Well… Mycroft is very vain, isn’t he? I mean, he’s appreciative of your looks, and he’d definitely be willing to, ah… well…” Sebastian lets out a short laugh at my inability to find the words, but I ignore the light flush in my cheeks and soldier on. “But it’s not as if he’s really attracted to you, it’s that he’s flattered. He expects people to recognize who he is, certainly, and obviously he doesn’t like being refused, but that feels standard to me. Did you notice he colors his hair?”

Sebastian turns his head now, and his lips twitch, just for a moment, in appreciation. “Good, Top. What else?”

“Um, his assistant - she’s really more his secretary. I mean, she probably knows more than he thinks - women nearly always do - but she’s not a confidant. He plays his cards close. It makes me wonder, though - how loyal is she, really? She likes the power her position gives her more than she likes the man, is my guess. And that means he doesn’t understand human nature as well as he thinks he does - at least for 51% of the population. Which means he has a vulnerability he doesn’t know he has. Hmm.” I shake my head and turn to Seb. “Remind you of anyone, Basher?”

Seb genuinely laughs now. “Oh, Top, so bloody true. Those two…” He shakes his head. “I think we better both thank whatever Gods we hold dear that they’re not on the same side. That would be a right fuckin’ mess, it would.”

He holds out his glass for me to refill, and I nod and hand mine to him. He grins and shakes his head. “Hot and metal, Top. You are a piece, you are.” 

I’m finally able to smile back, relieved that I’ve been able to bring some normality to this painfully un-normal situation. I reach out my other hand and slide it into his breast pocket, retrieving the pack of American Spirits. I raise my eyebrows and look at him meaningfully. “Your lighter?”

He shifts, and I see a light come back into his eyes, a glimmer that had been missing. “Ah, Top, you’d have to reach a bit further than that, aye? A gentleman keeps his lighter in his trousers. And that’s not all.” And he gives me the grin with all of his teeth before he moves his hip so I can reach my hand into his pocket. I actually blush. All of my time with this man and still he can stop me in my tracks. He sees the color in my cheeks and laughs before leaving me to fill our glasses, letting me lean into the wind to cool my thoughts.

It’s then I know that we will win. If this connection remains, if we can access that even in the midst of the most serious threat I can imagine, then we can’t be cowed.  _ We only play to win, Top. If you remember nothing else, remember that. We only play to win. _

I wait for Seb to return before lighting both of our cigarettes and handing him one. He nods his appreciation and hands me my glass in return. I only take a sip. “Basher - what was all of that about Irene, and about Michael? Was that just bullshit? Am I crazy?”

Sebastian leans over the balcony, brows drawn. “It was and it wasn’t, Top. I’m more convinced than ever that Irene is in Mycroft’s pocket. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It requires a very long game, but the truly powerful in this world play chess on a board that takes years to map. James is the same way. I’d wager Mycroft put her in place long before she came into your Senator’s radar.” He shakes his head, but I see appreciation, as well. 

“You admire him. Both of them.”

He turns to me, and I see the uncompromising intelligence that he keeps under wraps to those not trusted. “That I do, Top. This is my game. Of course I appreciate the skilled. All competitors appreciate their challengers, and their challenges, both. I’m not afraid to work. I’m not afraid to work harder to get an edge.”

_ Jesus, he’s a potent fucking combination. _ I’d fuck him right there on the balcony if the situation weren’t so serious and - let’s be honest - if it weren’t so cold. I shiver, feeling the wind down the back of my neck. “What about Michael?”

“You tell me, Top. You’re the one that needs to learn to think like a surgeon. Ye need to be unafraid to cut away the extraneous.”

I hold my tongue. He’s right. I take another sip of my sparkling wine, and let my mind rest, for just one moment on James - he’s the one who’s created this, this person, this new…me. And he knew it, didn’t he? He knew exactly what he was doing when he put me with Sebastian… a long game, indeed. He’s a genius but I don’t have to like him, no matter how much I admire him and love him, too.

“Michael’s a tool,” I say brusquely. “In every sense of the word.” Sebastian laughs in amused agreement, but I ignore him. “Is he a family friend? Sure, I believe that. But how long is this damn long game? Who bankrolled his campaigns? Who introduced him to the right people? Mycroft damn well knew he’d be useful. He probably set him up from the beginning, and I’m sure there’s many more like him.” I nod now, to myself, seeing what was always obvious but which I ignored in favor of wanting to believe. “Michael’s not as smart as he thinks he is - or as I thought he was,” I finish quietly.

Sebastian shrugs. “At least he dinna steal your number from your own fucking phone.” He raises an eyebrow and I can’t help but giggle.

“Okay,” I say, turning to face him, “What else? So Mycroft thought he’d throw us a red herring?”

“He thought he’d catch me off guard, Top. He thought I’d be relaxed after the Michael question was resolved, and he thought he’d blindside me. He nearly did, too, except that he didn’t want you to come. And even still, I thought maybe that was just his old-fashioned ideas, but he blathered on such a piece about those fucking roses I know he was gonna throw something loaded my way. I just didn’t know what. He didn’t have to play those games, the information was enough to make me want to crap me self, Top, no lie. But he just couldn’t help himself, as ye said - vanity.”

I glance up, shocked to hear him reveal that he’d been afraid, but he just looks down at me patiently. “Yes, I get scared. And you will, too. It’s of no matter. Ye need not be ashamed of being scared, Top, unless you let it be the boss of you. Ye saw me angry, as angry as I’ve ever been, tonight. But never forget, Top - anger is always fear, inverted. That will give you an edge someday. Ye look inside a man’s anger and find his fear and then, ye see, ye have the key to his actions.” He takes a long, deep breath. “He nearly had me. Nearly did.” His lips tighten with the admission.

It’s such an intimate confession, I stay quiet. I finish my wine and set my glass down, reaching up to loosen the pins from my hair. Seb finishes his whisky in one short draught, and places his glass beside mine before catching my hands in his. “Allow me.” And I let him, I let him undo that which he’s done and the wind picks up my hair and plays it across both our faces, and I smile. “Sebastian…”

His head is buried in my neck. “Yes, Top?”

I push him away from me, but gently. “Stay with me, here. Remember I don’t have all the information you have, not yet.” 

He nods soberly.

“But listen to me, Sebastian -” I catch up his chin in my hand, until we’re looking eye to eye, unblinking. “This will not stand. We will not allow this bastard to best us. That was the most afraid I’ve ever been in my life, seeing you afraid. And that will not stand.”

The wind whips up, forcing me to stand taller and speak clearly.

_ “We only play to win.” _

*****

  
  



End file.
